


The Little Polar Bear (East of the Sun and West of the Moon)

by imasyon, kageillusionz



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boys Kissing, Charles Is a Darling, Charles is a waiter sometimes, Erik owns a toy company, F/F, F/M, First Time, Fluff, Lots and lots of dating, M/M, Slice of Life, There are Musicals, There are Trolls, This is a Fairytale, Troll Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 17:18:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 50,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/664483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imasyon/pseuds/imasyon, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a Modern, Powered AU, Charles Xavier is a struggling post-graduate student who works part time as a waiter for a catering job. His father once owned the prestigious toy company called The Little Polar Bear, that is until he died in a factory fire and his mother remarried to the Markos who run it to the ground.</p><p>As fate will have it, Charles is working the night The Little Polar Bear undergoes a merger with Das Spielwarengeschäft mit der Maus, an overseas toy company that is run by the enigmatic Erik Lehnsherr who always keeps part of his face covered.</p><p>This is the story of them falling in love and facing a number of trials and tribulations to stay together.  Based loosely from the Norwegian fairytale East of the Sun, West of the Moon and written for Round Two of X-Men Big Bang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to my lovely artist and my twinny [imasyon](http://archiveofourown.org/users/imasyon) for cheering me through this and offering such wonderful support. I could not have done this without you my dear!  
> Also, my undying love to my beta [afrocurl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/afrocurl) for putting up with me, for her endless patience and all the reassurance. I swear I know how to italicise. ^^;
> 
>  **Art Masterpost:** [Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/663341)  
>  Written for the **[X-Men Big Bang Challenge](http://xmenbigbang.livejournal.com/)** Round Two

The upper echelon of New York's society flows fluidly around him with a disinterested hum. They are in fancy dress - as they are often wont to be in - from long flowing elegant gowns, embellished with glistening diamonds and precious gems to tailored suits with carefully cut lines to show off the cufflinks that adorn and twinkle at the end of blazer sleeves.

Their cage is a ball room, decorated in a fusion of the old and the new. Curious twists of metal adorn the walls and the floor, some of which could be classified under the loose definition of the word art. These metallic pieces are contrasted by an assortment of arm chairs made of mahogany and plush red velvet.

High society is all about appearances; always hide your displeasure behind an agreeable countenance. The clientele are armed with fake smiles and words laced with venomous subtext, forced into socialising with one another when kept in close captivity for one evening.   Charles Xavier observes the interaction from the sidelines, armed with a serving tray and canapés, as they draw circles around one another, conversing for a socially acceptable amount of time before the cycle continues on fresh victims.

Had she been alive, Charles knows Mother would be rolling in her grave at his current career choice. And he can only thank her for his lessons in social etiquette that began at an early age after being shown off on far too many occasions as the Xavier heir.  The pride and joy of Mother's eye had the joy not been present in his life ever since Father died and Charles had been expected to act a certain way.  As if generous donations to prestigious boarding schools all over England equates to any affection between mother and son.

Charles' ability to pull off a convincing smile, when faced with people who look down their nose at him through the eyeholes of their gilded Venetian masks, are testament to these lessons, learnt because Charles is dutiful to his parents. And it is much simpler to give Mother what she wants to save on all the lost time later when she would stir up a fuss.

Well. Mother would most definitely be displeased, Charles thinks wryly as he hands a serviette to go with the prosciutto with fennel on mini toasts.

“You are a member of the Xavier family," she would have said with a wrinkle of disgust marring her brow, "And you are my son. You should be out there mingling, not doing ... servant's work.” Her words would have slurred together, from too much drink as she waved her bottle of the hour in the air. The contents would have sloshed around on the inside and threatened the rug with the probability of new stains.

Of course, she's been dead for years, so Charles finds he cannot really give his Mother's words any weight. Especially from a Sharon Xavier that lives as a figment of his imagination. Truthfully, Charles has his doubts about his mother even recalling having ever given birth to a son to care much about his career path.

Like all young boys, Charles aspired to be just like his father.

Brian Xavier was the founder of a small toy company in New York called The Little Polar Bear. From such humble beginnings came inventions and toys that intrigued and fascinated children.  Then with a stroke of fortune and luck, the name had spread like wildfire, and soon, the company became known throughout the world.

But as fate would have it, Charles was not destined to become a toy-maker.

His father died in a mysterious factory fire that swept through the workshop and the warehouses. The subsequent investigations found the tragedy had claimed five lives and it was believed to have been the work of arsonists.  They were never found.

His heart-broken mother found comfort at the bottom of the bottle. She haunted the cold halls of Westchester and was never quite the same woman ever again. Charles could not fault her when she subsequently found herself in the arms of another man.

His childhood took a drastic turn for the worse when the Markos arrived into his life.  His step-father, Kurt Marko, took over The Little Polar Bear like he did everything else: ruthlessly and brutally.

And then there was the matter of his new step-brother, Cain.

It had been a slip of his control when he had found out about the physical abuse that Cain had been subjected to. Charles tentatively tried to become Cain's ally and friend, but his efforts were rebuffed in the form of fists. It was a vicious cycle: Kurt would find Cain and then Cain would seek out Charles, who became very good at fleeing and hiding.

And then, when the opportunity presented itself, Charles chose to leave Westchester for Harvard.

There, at Harvard, Charles felt for the first time like he could breathe again. He applied himself to his studies: Biophysics, Psychology and Genetics which quickly and easily replaced his family. He graduated at 16 from Harvard and then pursued further study in Oxford, eager to stay away from Westchester for as long as possible.

Time flowed differently in England. Charles found his placement to be both far too short and far too long, like time dilation and time contraction were at war with one another. And then in the blink of an eye, graduation was thrust upon him, bringing his schedule of sleeping and drinking and shagging to an end.

It came as no surprise to Charles when none of his family was found to be in attendance at his graduation ceremony.

In the years he had been away, the Little Polar Bear had steadily declined under Kurt’s dirty paw. Charles had inadvertently avoided all news about his father's company and his heart squeezed unpleasantly when he saw his father’s company name tarnished through Kurt’s questionable business practises.

With the ink still drying on his papers, Charles returned to Westchester, in the hopes that he could save the company from living on borrowed time.  His step-father would have none of it, ignoring each and every one of Charles' ideas that could have saved the company from financial ruin.

It all proved useless when Kurt chose Cain to be his successor and implemented each of Charles' plans.  Charles, dejected by his step-father's back stabbing move, leaves once again and attends Columbia University.

New York is vastly different from Oxford. Here, Charles is strangely happy, living in a small run-down apartment, close enough to campus without being charged rent that closely resembles debts owed by some small African country.

Charles likes his job, as far as part-time work goes. He retires into the kitchen for a quick breather, giving himself some time for water and to recover from all the fake smiles and social niceties.  The event, with its guest list and masquerade theme, is worthy of the once vibrant halls of Westchester.

That is not to say the host's house is not also opulent.  Where old tapestries and portraits of dead Xaviers adorn the walls of his old home, this one is spartan in comparison.  It is modest in a way that Charles finds refreshing.

His boss's booming voice breaks Charles out of his thoughts. “For God’s sake, take that plate of sandwiches out and fix your damned vest and that mask.” Charles nods dutifully and scrambles to comply; recapping the bottle of water and smoothing away the invisible wrinkles on his vest.

The kitchen staff looks on in pity and Charles exchanges a wry smile with one before picking up the platter of sandwiches and returning to the hall with his mask pushed up the bridge of his nose.

Once on the floor again, Charles weaves between the guests and partakes in his favourite pastime of overhearing their backstabbing thoughts. There is a man standing on the side sporting a full face mask who has curiously quiet thoughts. There is a woman dressed completely in white and dripping with diamonds who is incredibly bored with the proceedings.

Looking around the room, there is probably enough glitter in the room to rival a Drag Ball. Charles has to bite down on the inside of his cheek before the thought makes him laugh.

He clears his throat awkwardly and schools his face into pleasant neutrality when and old couple approaches him. “Sandwiches, sir, madam?” The old woman asks for his recommendation and he cheerfully chirps that the smoked salmon and cucumber on white is his favourite. She nods and takes two on a napkin, giving Charles a smile before they move away.

Drifting between conversations and backstabbing thoughts, Charles finds himself on the other side of the room. He debates whether he ought to approach the man by the wall, with his arms folded defensively over his chest. Charles can imagine a frown behind the full length mask.

"Would you like a sandwich, sir?" Charles asks and holds out the platter in what he hopes is an enticing manner. "The shrimp and citrus mayonnaise on white has been very popular tonight."

The man turns his head towards him. Charles can see pale eyes from behind the mask trailing from his shoes up to his face languidly. He feels oddly violated as the man's gaze lingers and looks through him. It leaves him feeling strangely naked and exposed and Charles certainly hopes the man doesn't have x-ray vision as a mutation. Surely that is grounds for sexual harassment.

The man turns away a moment later and presumes to ignore him without a word.

How rude. A simple no would have sufficed, Charles thinks to himself and moves away. Sending his telepathy out in a covert manner, Charles wonders what kind of thoughts the man in the mask would be having.  Undoubtedly pornographic in nature given the way the man had looked at him.

Indignation melts away into surprise. There are strong mental shields in place which keep his telepathy out. It is not a thing he has encountered before and Charles sends out a few more tendrils of thought in the man's direction, expecting the road block to give way and fall like a castle made of cards. But to no avail as the man looks up in slight alarm.

Charles quickly turns around, cold sweat breaking out as he breaks their mental connection with haste.  His heart pounds loudly in his chest.  Had he been found out?  Perhaps the man in the mask is also a telepath. The thought brings with it a mix of excitement and dread as he returns to pawning off the rest of the sandwiches to others in the room.

The only time he allows himself to look in the man's direction is after his platter had been emptied and finds that the man had been joined by a woman dressed in white. They are looking in his direction and the woman has an oddly calculating look about her.  Charles turns around again, biting down on his lip in thought, only stopping when he recognises a mind in the crowd that he hoped never to encounter again.

"Charles."

The voice stops him in his tracks. With nothing more to it, Charles straightens up and nods to his step-father with a smile that does not quite reach his eyes.

“Kurt.”

Kurt stands in front of him, feet spread wide and wearing an unflattering shade of purple. His hair is slicked back to the point where Charles wonders when the last time Kurt had washed his hair. Time certainly treated the bastard well, Charles thinks viciously as he tries not to stare at the man's bulging waistline.

His step-father smiles unpleasantly, baring yellow-stained teeth in Charles' direction.“Heh. I thought it was you, scampering around the room like a starving rat looking for food scraps. I never thought I would run into you here, boy,” Kurt says, throwing his arms out wide for effect and nearly smacking a lady in blue with the back of his hand. Kurt ignores her aghast gasp and launches into a spiel of how the merger will be the best thing to happen to the Little Polar Bear since Brian’s death.

“Congratulations,” Charles says through gritted teeth, words laced bitterly with contempt. How dare this man say an ill word about his father. He tries not to glean how much money Kurt must have lost in order to prompt the merger in the first place.  With his temper fraying, Charles gives a half-bow and says, “If you will please excuse me, _sir_ , I have to get back to my job,” before he beats a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

The speeches start soon after, with Charles keeping careful tabs on his step-father in order to elude him for the rest of the evening. This is an easy enough feat when Kurt spends the duration on the makeshift stage looking immensely pleased with himself. 

He pauses long enough between offering drinks to look at the man currently addressing to the room. His name is Erik Lehnsherr and the CEO of a German toy company by the name of Das Spielwarengeschäft mit der Maus; a delightful name to mean The Toy Store with the Mouse, evident from the logo.

The man has a nice voice and he commands attention like a general with his army. Charles has never seen another man look so divine, dressed in a charcoal grey suit and a simple Venetian mask. The get up ought to be illegal in several states in Charles' humble opinion.

He has heard and read many things about Erik Lehnsherr, who is the current face of the toy-making industry. A veritable genius when it comes to circuit design and new inventions that amuse both the young and the old. The stir that Das Spielwarengeschäft mit der Maus causes rivals that of the Little Polar Bear's heyday.

The curious thing about Erik Lehnsherr is that no one has managed to ever get a glimpse of the man's face.  Despite all the talented fans on Tumblr and other niche online communities splicing together and photoshopping bits of what he ought to hypothetically look like, Charles has never found a complete and undoctored photograph of the CEO.

Charles is pulled unceremoniously from his thoughts when he feels his body lurch.  In the few seconds between falling, his mind helpfully registers that he is indeed going to renew his acquaintanceship with the ground.  The Persian rug gets a thorough dousing in champagne and there is the sound of a number of glasses shattering.  The platter rolls away and hides behind one of the metal sculptures, where it finally stops, like the ballerina it is not, with a clatter.

He is on his hands and knees, hiding his red face behind the curtain of his hair as he hastily moves to clean up the mess he has caused.

"Tsk tsk, Charlie.  You have always been a klutz. God knows how you've managed to keep this job."

It is one of those moments in life where you wish the ground would open up and swallow you whole.  Charles freezes at the shadow that has been cast over him.

There is a snigger. "Oh, oops.  I guess you won't be at this particular job for long."

"Cain." Of all the places to be and people to serve, he just had to run into the Markos. Charles should have known his step-brother would also be in attendance.  The bad apple, after all, does not fall far from the tree.  His insides are twisting together, from the embarrassment and the shame and the anger, as he picks up the broken shards around him with his fingers in the faint hope that it will get him away from the public scrutiny Charles suddenly finds himself under.

He ignores it when blood spots the broken pieces of crystal, keeping his head firmly down.  It is one thing for the Markos to bully him at Westchester but entirely another thing to ruin, not only his part-time job, but also the most important speech of the evening.  Charles might as well walk out the door since there is not a chance he is not fired.

A hand descends out of nowhere and lands upon his forearm lightly, the grip unforgiving yet gentle.

“Come with me, sugar.” It comes out more of a command than a suggestion. There is a light pressure on the small of his back and Charles finds himself ushered out of the room, the platter held loosely in his grasp.

The woman in white from earlier leads him into the kitchen where the man with the mask who refused his sandwiches is waiting.

"Let me take care of this for you," the woman says as she tugs the platter of damaged champagne flutes out of his hand.  She disappears without another word.

Charles looks awkwardly down at his fingers, starting a little only when the man begins to speak.  “Take a seat here," he says, "And let me take a look at your fingers.” Charles allows himself to be eased onto a kitchen stool and watches as the man pulls out a first aid kit from somewhere.

He watches as the man takes out a pair of tweezers.  “Keep yourself distracted as I remove the slivers,” instructs the man.

It is like someone has given Charles permission to tell his entire life’s story to all those in the kitchen that would hear it. “I totally bollocksed that up. Completely. D-didn’t I?" Charles asks with a stutter, "I d-didn’t mean to- I can’t even begin to think of the damage I did to that rug. My boss is going to fire me, skin me and kill me - and probably not necessarily in that order, but close to something like it.

“I’ll probably then starve," Charles continues, "I need this job to afford more than just Shin Ramyun, you know? I wish my boss had told me who would be at this function. If I had known it was a merger that relates to The Little Polar Bear I probably would have refused him. Did you know that was my step-father and step-brother out there? They absolutely hate me. Of course, no one else here know that we are related.”

The man says nothing throughout his tirade.  All of his attention is focused solely on Charles’ finger. “You know, you didn’t have to do this,” Charles mumbles, watching as his right fingers waver in the air with the effort it takes to keep them still whilst held in the man's grasp. His fingers are long and like a pianist's, although there are several scars on the back of his hand that Charles can see, and rough calluses brush against his skin.

"I can look after myself," Charles says to an unconvinced audience.

“And I am sure you do a very good job at that. Now be a good boy and say thank you,” the man says as he bandages up the finger. There’s a hint of smile behind those words that causes Charles’ face to flare up.

His boss, a lumpy little man called Mr Brown, storms into the kitchen before Charles can ask for the man's name. Mr Brown's face is red and splotchy with a slightly wild and crazed look in his eye. Charles swallows the lump in his throat and pulls his hand free as he struggles to his feet. "Please, let me explain-"

"Xavier, you're fired! Now, get out of my kitchen! Get out of my sight!"

"It was an accident!" Charles pleads, "Please, Mr Brown. Please give me another chance."

Mr Brown will have none of it, shaking his head. "I want you gone! I will not have you tarnishing my service because of your accidents. Out, Xavier!"

Charles finds himself shaking, whether from shock or something else he cannot quite place. His shoulders slump and lets his breath out in a stutter. The savings in his bank account will probably tide him over for a month or two, but finding a new job requires time and that is a particular commodity he just did not have.

"I would be sorely disappointed if you fired one of your more competent staff members, Mr Brown," the masked man speaks as he straightens up from a crouch, drawing himself to his full height, "Someone tripped him on purpose and I saw it happen."

Mr Brown frowns and squints up at him, demanding, “And who the devil are you? And why do you care what I do with my staff?”

“I am the man paying you for your services rendered tonight and I do have sizeable connections to corporations that do a number of functions that may require catering. I do wish I can tell them of how excellent I found your service,” the man says.

“Are you blackmailing me?”

“Oh, not at all," the man says with a smile, a grin that displays many straight white teeth. "Blackmail implies that I am committing a crime and making threats for some sort of personal gain. Now, as I see it, I do not have anything to gain from you firing this man, which is your loss.”

Mr Brown stares at the man, an uncertain expression on his face. The men engage in a staring contest before Mr Brown breaks eye contact and subsides with a grumble. "You should thank this man for saving your ass.  Next time, it's grass."  His boss doesn't stay long enough to hear any of Charles' words of gratitude.

Charles turns to the masked man. "Thank you so much, sir." He open his mouth and finds himself unable to find the next right words. "If there is anything I can do to repay you, please tell me. I will do my utmost to fulfil it."  The man pauses, looking back at him in consideration for a minute before he answers.

"Go out on a date with me."

This man certainly doesn’t mince words. Charles finds his eyebrows creeping upwards and his jaw moving in the opposite direction as blood floods all the space in between. It is not quite what he had in mind when he said request, but definitely one he would not mind fulfilling. "I-if that is what you want."

“Very good.” The man holds out his hand. "Give me your phone."

Charles obediently fishes it out from his pocket without a word, handing over an archaic Nokia from the last millennium. The man presses a few buttons and then a ringtone that sounds oddly like Rolf Harris’ Two Little Boys chimes from his pocket.

"I'll call you next week, with a time and place," the man says, offering the phone back. Charles, still feeling a little dumbstruck, blinks and feels the weight of his phone drop into his palm. Their fingers touch briefly.

"Good. If you'll excuse me then, Charles." The man offers a bow and then disappears out the kitchen door.

Charles looks down at the phone in his hand and presses the down button impatiently through his (short) contact list. There’s a new entry under the name of 'Erik' and Charles finds himself wondering what the hell just happened.

* * *

By the end of the night, Erik is struck by a certain kind of tiredness that he swears he can feel right down to his bones. The last of the guests have finally been corralled and herded out, as politely as possible, and the house is plunged into silence once more. He finds he likes it this way.

He had not expected the evening to go as planned, rarely anything ever does, and Erik finds himself grinning when recalling the events of saving a waiter his job from asshole bosses and then getting a date out of it at the end of the day. His plan of being an unapproachable member of the household had not been any sort of hardship (Emma, his secretary, could attest to that) which is why his adoptive little sister and most talented metamorph handles all of his public speeches.

Speak of the devil and they shall appear, Erik thinks wryly as he watches Raven collapses onto the couch next to him. She looks decidedly more comfortable in her own skin.

"Where the hell were you earlier when I was giving your speech?" Raven asks with a glower on her face. The television is playing a ridiculous show about high functioning sociopaths and retired army doctors and neither of them are paying much attention to the screen.

Erik shrugs in answer.

"Oh, come on, brother dearest. Did someone catch your eye and you decided to let your, metaphorically speaking, hair down? Was he cute? Oh! I bet it was that cute waiter guy you were ogling all night long," she teases and nudges his thigh with her foot.

"Did you ask him out?"

He levels a look in her direction and takes a moment to wonder if Emma told her. "How did you know?" Erik asks slowly, wondering if it was a women's intuition thing or perhaps he is doomed to be surrounded by females who always seem to know what he is up to without ever doing anything.

Raven grins. "Shut _up_!  You _asked_ him out?  I _never_ thought you'd _ever_ ask _anyone_ out."

Erik scowls at her. He tamps down the urge to roll his eyes immaturely. "If you had stressed any more words in that sentence, I'm certain you'd burst into a cloud of exclamation marks."

"You are _hilarious_ , brother." She shifts on the couch and hugs a cushion to her chest, looking at him with a certain kind of expectancy. "You must tell me everything before I deploy the puppy dog eyes on you."

It is shameful that Erik's track record against Raven's puppy dog eyes is not in his favour.  He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, careful not to jostle the simple Venetian mask he wears at home.  "Do you remember how I told you about a boy I once met during summer?"

Raven sits up suddenly, a frown quickly taking over her face. "The plushie on your bedside table used to be his because you traded away your shark for it at some beach resort long ago.  You mean to say he actually exists?" she asks, tilting her head to the side. "I always thought you were pulling my leg. Wait. He's the waiter guy and you _asked_ him out, like on a date?"

Erik lets out a wry huff of laughter, affirming, "It turns out he's the waiter guy and I might have done it whilst saving his job."

"Wait, wait.  Shit like this doesn't just happen outside of movies or fanfiction." Raven taps her chin thoughtfully as she brings her knees up to her chest. "Do you know if he is _the_ Charles? Your Charles?"

Erik sighs and turns his attention back to the television. "I don't.  What do I do? What if he doesn't want this and I pressured him into this because he feels obligated to do so after I saved his job?"

"You're panicking.  Stop panicking.  Irene is never going to believe this. Emma must be having a field day with this," Raven says gleefully.  She casts the cushion aside in favour of snuggling in against his side which Erik allows as he throws an arm around her shoulders.

"Never fear, brother dearest, for I shall help you woo your beloved.  Anyway, it's only one date."

Erik frowns down at her. “I am not sure if that was meant to sound convincing or if you were making a prediction there. If it does turn out that this Charles is my Charles, I hope to make it to more than just one date.”

Her hand pats his knee in a manner which Erik considers to be condescending. "Shut up, Erik. You may have just met your One True Love - take note of the capitals in my voice - and you better believe that I will never allow anything to come between you and him. Charles better be prepared and take responsibility if he ever breaks your heart.  I’m going to give one hell of a Little Sister talk.”

“Please, don’t.”

Raven slaps his knee this time. "Don't ruin this for me, Erik.  I've been waiting quite some time for this moment."

* * *

It is true what they say about New York City being the city that never sleeps; Charles can personally attest to the accuracy of that particular statement to the point that he wishes he could perhaps own a TARDIS to call his very own someday. He is often late for appointments and typically arrives by the skin of his teeth to everything.

That always puzzles him is everyone's amazement over his non-existent time management skills.

Quite often on campus, Charles is seen dashing from place to place, waving hello and goodbye simultaneously to anyone that stops him. Very infrequently does he get to enjoy a few words of conversation before he has to go. All of the sprinting he does makes for very beautiful calves.

Time, what is time? Charles asks himself one night as he lies in bed waiting for sleep to take him. He has not had a decent shag since first semester, when he naively thought that there would be a semblance of a healthy sexual life between part-time work and studying. How very wrong he turns out to be. Looking after his cell cultures and watching them divide is the closest thing Charles gets to action these days.

But that is the life of a post-graduate student and so, Charles carries on working a lot, studying moderately, trolls the internet more than he sleeps.

Outside of the usual emails, cat videos and catching up with news that he uses his laptop for, Charles likes going on one forum reserved for toy enthusiasts.

The site was founded by other toy collectors and hobbyists like him.  He had the fortuity to stumble upon it when looking for news of how the The Little Polar Bear was faring and he had ended up spending hours he could ill afford to use frivolously deep in conversation with some guy.  They racked up several hundred posts easily between them.

It had been for the greater good, Charles had convinced himself, as he looked down at the tin plane in his hands, paint peeling off the edges and no longer working as it should.  The toy belonged to a little boy Charles had befriended at the soup kitchen he volunteered at on Sundays. He could not help but to assure his young friend that he would do his utmost to fix the loose wiring. And it would do Father's memory some justice if he could see his only son helping out children in need.

The problem had seemed straightforward at first, until Charles realised he didn't have a backup plan if soldering it back into place did not work.  Thankfully, the guy had given Charles his Skype username, in the case that Charles may need his help. (Really, who called themselves **der_haifisch**?  Then again, Charles' own handle was not the most creative).  Under **der_haifisch** 's tutelage and MacGyver-like solutions, the plane had been fixed.

Their friendship had spawned from the occasional Skype chat to more frequent messages over WhatsApp. 

Charles doesn't bother to log onto Skype as soon as he returns home, choosing to fling all his clothes onto the hamper and collapse onto his bed.

He is not expecting **der_haifisch** to be awake at such a late hour, by Charles' clock anyway, and he quickly taps a message on WhatsApp before throwing himself into the shower. It will be some small miracle if he does not fall asleep from exhaustion and drown.

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_You won’t believe the day I had today. Work was absolutely crazy and then, get this, a guy asked me out. We’ll see how that goes. Sorry to have missed you today : ( Absolutely buggered from work, so I'm going to fling myself into bed.          2:42 AM_


	2. Chapter 2

Raven likes to think that had she not been Erik's public face of Das Spielwarengeschäft mit der Maus, she could have made her fortune by being an international spy. Like a female James Bond but with more boobs, badassery and brilliance.  Yes, and also more blue. Unfortunately, being Erik's body double sorely limited her choices of employment and so she gets her kicks out of torturing the employees (well, for those that screw up anyway).

The current merger negotiations with the Little Polar Bear is the closest thing Raven knows she will get to live a life full of espionage. A girl can dream, she thinks wistfully.

To get her kicks out of what is fast becoming one of the most boring experiences in her life, she pretends it is an interrogation. The older Marko is a windbag (not exactly the best quality to find in a tight-lipped victim, but Raven will roll with it) and clings onto the misconception that he wields any power in these negotiations.  Raven humours him for now as she twirls one of Erik's silver fountain pens between her fingers.

In all the years that she had been a part of the Lehnsherr family, never had Erik shown much of an interest in mergers with toy manufacturers that lay overseas.  That is until the Little Polar Bear started to flounder financially and Emma had been ordered to send out a merger proposal.  She asked him why once the envelope had been mailed and sent, only to receive a cryptic answer in reply. Something about sentimental value and old friends before the topic was dismissed.

Raven certainly cannot see what Erik saw in this American company and its sweaty red-faced windbag of a CEO.  It is pathetic watching Marko try to claw for a bigger share when he did not have any bargaining chips to begin with.

The fountain pen stills.

“Mr. Marko," Raven interrupts smoothly and stands up. She gracefully unfurls Erik's stupidly tall frame and sends a smile down the length of the table. "This meeting is merely a formality and none of the terms are negotiable.  Please sign the papers."

Unlike some people in the room, she runs a very tight ship and there is no room for men like the Markos.

However, there is plenty of room for one Irene Adler and all the information she can find on one Charles Xavier.

* * *

On his floor, there are three younger men and Charles has gotten to know them very well.

There is Hank who lives across from him. He lives and breathes for science almost to the point of unhealthy obsession. Many afternoons are spent in eager conversation, ranging from quantum physics to genetic mutation, over a good cup of tea. And it is always a pleasure to speak with Hank. Had Hank not shown his prehensile feet to him one afternoon, Charles would have easily mistaken Hank's intelligence to be a mutation in its own right.

Alex and Sean both live down the hall, their doors always open to any of their friends who need anything.  Alex works at a café near campus and Sean at a pet store, their combined wages used to fund their ever growing collection of video games, board games and, occasionally, groceries.

Charles doesn't mind it when the boys host parties that last into the early hours of the morning because he returns home late either from work, the labs or some social gathering of his own to avoid the noise when it is at its peak.

(He has a feeling that Hank’s walls are soundproofed likely out of necessity, when faced with adversaries like Alex’s Grand Theft Auto gaming marathons or Sean’s board game nights.)

* * *

Sean finds Nintendo Night typically goes something like this.

He is curled up in his rather fashionable and comfortable pod egg with his fingers flying over his green Nintendo 64 controller. Hank, Charles and Alex sit on the sofa whilst Darwin and Angel - both Alex's friends who have been inducted into their comfortable group - arranged on the raggedy rug that Alex owns.

Sean grins as he listens to the alluring sound of the television heralding yet another win in Super Smash Bros for Kirby. It is music to his ears as the others each take a shot of vodka for having lost the round.

“How was your day? Anything interesting happen?” Alex asks, voice surprisingly steady considering how many shots he has drunk so far.

Darwin shrugs as he surrenders his controller to Angel. “I had an interesting customer though, one of those supermodel types. You know the type," Darwin pauses for a moment to gesticulate, "You know, with the perfectly done hair and the Armani suit and smelling of Acqua Di Gio. Guess he must have been from out of town. He handed over a piece of paper with an address written in the loopiest handwriting and just pointed to it. Guy didn’t say a word during the ride."

"How about you, Hank?  What have you been up to lately?" Darwin asks as he takes a sip from his tumbler and watches the new fight begin. "Last I remember, you were talking about using FTIR spectroscopy on some of your new samples?”

“Ahh, you remember well," Hank comments as he guides his Mario towards Angel's Samus. "Without going into too much detail, my experiments are proceeding at the predicted rate. What about you, Charles?”

“Just the usual. My boss tried to fire me and I got asked out by a client in the span of 10 minutes.  I’m not entirely sure how I feel about it,” Charles says nonchalantly as he guides Yoshi around the Celadon City stage, carefully shielding against an attack from Samus.

Sean presses start on his controller and the screen pauses, joining the shocked silence that fills Alex’s apartment. His eyebrows rise towards his hairline. Well, that definitely didn't happen on most Nintendo Night.

Angel, being the first to recover, demands all the juicy details seconds later.

* * *

Charles carefully walks down the stairs of his lab block, his arms filled with boxes of important stuff balanced precariously when his phone rings.  The elevator is still in the midst of being fixed after it decided to kick the bucket last week. Charles is mildly thankful that all the classrooms are located on the lower floors.

He pauses and stops at the next landing, propping everything up against the wall and pats his pockets down for his phone.

When he answers, Charles is only just a little out of breath.  “Hello, just hold on a minute I need to- set this down and then- not drop that! Hang on, _I am putting you in my pocket_.”  He does not give the other person a chance to say anything as he pockets the phone.

Making his way outside, Charles slowly shimmies towards the nearest bench and carefully drops everything next to him.

“Hello? Sorry about that. I don't believe I know this number.”

“Am I speaking to Charles? Charles Xavier?”  It is a female’s voice that belongs to no one that Charles knows. Or at least, thinks he remembers.

Tentatively, Charles replies, “Yes. Who is this?”

“You don’t know me," she says, "But I know who you are. To think you actually do exist. Oh my goodness, that sounds so seedy. Please don’t hang up or think I’m creepy. I swear, I’m normal.”

Charles frowns, wondering if this is a prank call. If it is, the lady went to great lengths to find out his name. “Look, I’m kind of busy. Can I help you in some way?”

“My name is Raven, Raven Lehnsherr," she says in a very 007 kind of way. It amuses Charles.

"I believe my brother asked you out the other day?  Erik? We were wondering if you would like to have lunch with us,” continues Raven, her voice taking on a hopeful lilt even as.

Hesitantly, Charles looks down at his boxes. Each of them sit next to him with a quiet expectation that they would eventually be sorted. “I-”

“Excellent!  Look towards your left.”  Charles turns slowly and blinks owlishly as a woman in blue waves wildly at him. "You're strangely difficult to find on this campus, you know."

There’s a man standing next to her, fidgeting with the scarf that is wrapped around his neck. _It's Erik_ , his mind helpfully supplies as the pair walk towards him.

“Just so you know this doesn’t count as a first date between you,” Raven says in way of greeting as she hangs up the call and shakes his hand enthusiastically. Her brother trails behind her, a sort of resigned air about him.

“It is nice to finally meet you, Charles.”

Charles smiles. “Likewise. Thank you for inviting me to lunch. I confess, Erik never mentioned he had a sister.  Actually, we regrettably didn't have much time to talk that night," Charles muses, thinking back to their rather short conversation.  "Although it is lovely to see you again, Erik. You look very dapper today."

Erik inclines his head, his fedora tipping down over the pair of aviator sunglasses he is wearing. “Hello Charles. You look lovely.” Which is a complete lie, but lovely of Erik to say nevertheless.

“Would you like some help taking those anywhere?” Raven asks, peering into the top most box and looking about half a second from poking at the contents, heedless of what curiosity does to cats.

He nods once, thinking of the little cubicle that had been given to him. “Back to my table which shouldn't take more than a few minutes.”

“Here, let me help you with those boxes,” Erik offers, stepping forward and lifting them as if they weighed nothing at all.

“Oh! You needn’t do that, Erik.  I can manage,” Charles says quickly, biting on his lower lip as he tries to come up with a polite way of getting them back without being completely rude about it.

Erik laughs. “It’s quite alright. I want to. Please lead the way.”

* * *

As soon as the boxes are unloaded, Charles leads them to the local campus cafe.  Shaw's - aptly named after the crotchety owner - is one of the only places on campus that sells decent food and beverages.  Unfortunately, the prices are closer to ransom demands because Shaw is an ass and had the power to do so.

The place is filled with an assortment of tables and chairs all of different makes and sizes, all sitting upon wooden floors that might have been varnished some odd decade or so ago. Raven notes that probably the only thing that is new about the cafe is the gleaming coffee machine that sits by the register and the cake and sandwiches counter.

Erik orders shortly after for the table and Raven is gleeful to see that Charles is as British as he sounds. The queue is long enough that Raven knows her brother will be preoccupied for a while, giving her ample opportunity to cross-examine Charles.

She starts with a smile and an apology. An explanation is in order. "I am sorry for being so forthright about inviting you out to lunch.  I am certain you are extremely busy, but you have to understand that Erik is a bit emotionally constipated and although he took the initiative of asking you out, he spends quite a portion of his time just staring at his phone. Intervention was necessary, you see."

"Oh!" gasps Charles, his face taking on a little colour.  "That's certainly quite alright."

"There's also something else you should know about Erik." Raven picks up a sugar packet to play with between her fingers and pauses long enough to consider her words carefully. "Erik has never dated anyone in the history of ever.  Please be gentle with him, or else I am obligated as his sister to do something about it."

Charles licks his lips and clears his throat. Raven cannot help but stare rudely until she catches herself.  Thankfully, Charles did not seem to have picked up on it for he says with a sheepish smile, "I am quite flattered that Erik chose to ask me in the first place.  Oddly flattered and honoured actually."

"You do give yourself far little credit, Charles.  I'm certain anyone will be lucky to have you."  Raven sits back and grins. "Please, tell me about yourself. I have a few guesses about where that accent of yours came about."  What she doesn't mention is the rather in-depth dossier she had Irene put together about Charles.  It is one of the perks of having a private investigator for a girlfriend.

Perking up at the invitation, he begins to tell her his tale. About a childhood spent growing up in Westchester, of days spent in England at a boarding school as a young boy, and proudly of a little toy company that once belonged to his father.  And especially why he chose to pursue a career in genetics.

"Mutations, you say?"

Charles nods, punctuating his sentences with hand gestures.  "For example, you can say that the ability to manipulate time is like your blue skin. It is a mutation. But it takes a different genetic recipe to achieve it.  It isn't any different from a person having blue eyes or ginger hair.  And statistically speaking, that the homo superior once numbered only in the hundreds has increased exponentially. The chance of children of this day and age wielding extraordinary gifts is about the same as whether one turns out to be a boy or a girl.

"Naturally, with probability being as it is, society has had to learn to adapt and accept," and here Charles hesitates for a minute before continuing, "It is unfortunate that discrimination prevails and still exists. The fear of the unknown and changes are driving a large portion of that type of thinking.  With my research, I hope to bring understanding and educate."

Raven smiles when she catches Erik juggling their orders on a normal plastic tray. She can see her brother's frustration. "Are you a mutant then?"

"Yes. I am a telepath.  I can read your mind, although never without your permission, of course." Charles hesitates for a moment, looking at Erik with a closed off look about him.

She reaches over the table and covers one of Charles' hands with her own. On a whim, Raven changes her fingernail colours from red to black. "You are among friends here. Nothing you can say or do will faze Erik. Not with how smitten he is with you."

"A metamorph, how delightful!" Charles pauses and then blinks. He looks up from their hands with a surprised look on his face which slowly melts into delight. "Wait. He is?"

"Oh Charles," Raven says with a laugh and smirks. "Trust me. He is."

Conversation cases when Erik arrives, the tray unceremoniously clattering onto the table.  Raven gets her coffee (a skinny decaf mocha with an extra shot and a dash of caramel) shoved under her nose with the unnecessary force. She glares at her brother, who is busy laying out the plate of sandwiches and cups of tea with more care. Erik clearly only has eyes for Charles as Raven is ignored.  It is, somewhat, adorable and Raven is magnanimous about her brother's emotionally constipated state.

"Thank you for this Erik. I really wish you would have allowed me to pay for my share," Charles says after Erik reclaims his seat.

"Raven pretty much kidnapped you for lunch." Erik ignores the indignant 'Hey!' that escapes Raven's mouth and continues, "And I'm certain there will be plenty of opportunities for that in the future.  At least I hope so anyway."

"We were just talking about all your bad habits, brother dearest.  Probably a result of your mutation."

Charles shakes his head, laughing. "We _were_ talking about mutation, but not bad habits. We do not want to go into those, I'm afraid. Erik wouldn't want to date me after learning about those."

"Not at all.  I would like to learn everything about you, Charles."

"No, really."

"You're doing a terrible job at dissuading me, Charles."

These crazy kids will be fine on their own, Raven thinks as she hides her grin behind the lip of her coffee cup.  She pulls out her phone and makes a show of texting. The coffee at least is acceptable.

It becomes clear that the time to make her exit is soon, leaving them to fend for themselves. She is as proud as a mother hen of just well her boys are conducting themselves. “Good gracious, the time. I’d love to stay and chat, but I am meeting up with Irene in ten minutes.”

“So soon?” Charles asks, surprise evident in his voice.

“Don’t sound so sad, Charles. It was lovely meeting you. And I am almost certain I’ll be seeing more of you soon enough," Raven says with a laugh. "Be good, brother, and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” She breezes out of the cafe after giving Erik her most salacious wink, effectively abandoning him.

Irene is going to be so proud of her for thinking up with such an incredibly ingenious plan.

* * *

As soon as Raven takes one step outside, the butterflies in Charles's stomach begin to take flight and flutter about. He is not sure whether to feel thankful for the opportunity to be alone with Erik or flee the situation entirely.

The cup held between his hands is warm; decorated with splashes of warm yellows and reds, it is one of the largest cups in the cafe.  It is just as well that Alex works here.  There is a conversation that he has been putting off.  The better to enjoy Erik's company with of course, but it unfortunately has spelt the end of many of his previous relationships.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Charles asks, “Erik... I need to know before we start properly dating, what do you expect out of this?”

It is hard to tell what kind of emotions are flickering through Erik's eyes from behind reflective lens. The aviator sunglasses have still not been taken off and Charles is beginning to think he will never get to see Erik's eyes. The thought is oddly distressing.

Erik sits there, looking entirely flummoxed and struggling to find the proper words.  Charles cannot fault the man for biding his time. Depending on the answer though will depend on whether his insides will clench or unclench.

“I don't know what my expectations are, but I like you, Charles. From the first moment I saw you offering your sandwiches, I just, sort of, knew.” His tone of voice is genuine and sincere and it surprises Charles.

“How could you be so sure? I could be an axe murderer in my spare time for all you know,” he blurts out before he could think better of it.

The comment coaxes laughter from Erik unsuspectingly. “You hardly seem like the murdering type, Charles, let alone with an axe."

“Well, I am not but I could very well be!" he insists. What kind of person would promote that kind of knowledge? "I did however digress from the main point. There are things you should know about me that you missed earlier which you should know about.”

"Does this have anything to do with your bad habits from earlier?" Erik teases with a grin on his face, the cheeky bugger.

“It _is_ part of that same topic of conversation, but like I've said, that particular list will guarantee you running from the hills." Charles smiles when Erik laughs again.

"No, I am talking about mutations. I am a telepath. Some people have had issues with that and I just want you to know that I would never intentionally use my powers to influence you in any way nor would I read your mind without your permission. If you don’t want to do pursue a relationship with me, then I completely understand. You wouldn’t be the first,” Charles explains, hastily taking a long swallow of tea.

“Then they are all fools for not accepting you as you are. You are perfection, Charles,” Erik replies vehemently.  Fools, Erik thinks, the lot of them. The fierce thought floors Charles.

“Erik-”

Erik continues, “I don’t mind in the slightest. I can influence metals.” He gestures towards Charles’ spoon and makes it twirl on the table top.

Such a small display of power is delightful. Charles can feel the corners of his lips pulling upwards. “Erik!  How marvellous. Is it like this with all metals or just ferromagnetic substances?  What about the effects on diamagnetic materials?  Do you have the same sort of control over things like gold and silver?” Charles asks, his mind whirling about all the _possibilities_ that Erik's mutation presents.

Erik eases back into his seat and starts explaining his powers of magnetism to Charles. It is as if all of Charles’ wishes had come true as he reaches for the last sandwich and takes a large bite out of it.

He looks Erik contemplating before saying, “I believe the iron content in my blood is higher than most then, because I’m highly attracted to you.”

Erik coughs in surprise at the line. Charles grins impishly at him in reply.

“That’s terrible, Charles.”

“And here I thought I was being particularly clever. If you haven’t got anything else planned today, would you like a tour of my laboratory?”

Erik nods his head. “I’m all yours.”

Much later, after the grand tour of the labs and spending an afternoon talking about his cultures to his rather captive audience, Charles finds himself sitting opposite Erik at a table for two.

They had decided on Italian food and Charles had lead them to a little place two blocks away where the warmth of the restaurant is fuelled by the wood fire oven used to cook their pizzas. Like most things in New York, Charles had discovered this place completely by chance when he had been walking home.

With his nose slowly defrosting and Vivaldi's La Primavera concerto playing softly in the background, Charles looks thoughtfully at his menu whilst taking surreptitious looks over it at Erik.  Erik's scarf lay over his jacket, revealing a black turtleneck underneath and yet the sunglasses had remained. He is beginning to think Erik may have photosensitive eyes.

He quickly pretends to look busy when Erik catches him staring, feeling his cheeks warm.

"Shall we order to share? Do you have any preferences?" Erik asks nonchalantly, as if Charles had not just been caught staring.

"Um, I always order bruschetta and the herbs and garlic focaccia for starters." He puts the menu down and goes to take a look at the specials board  "Perhaps a pizza and a pasta for our mains?  Whichever dish calls to you."

When Erik flags down a waiter and orders in fluent Italian, Charles catches himself staring yet again at such blatant display of skill. Charles has always had a thing for men who can speak other languages, especially when he can count on one hand alone how many he speaks.

"Your Italian is amazing.  I confess I can only speak a little bit of schoolboy French, Latin, and some rather unimpressive Elvish and Klingon. What other languages do you speak?"

"Let's see. German, French, Spanish and Italian fluently enough with a little bit of Mandarin and Japanese. So you are a Trekkie?  I pinned you to be more of a Star Wars fan."

"Both.  Both is good.  I'll have you know my interests are wide and varied."

"Is that so?" Erik murmurs with a small chuckle. "Kirk or Picard, then?"

"Picard, hands down.  And here are the numerous reasons why..."

When the main course finally melts away into dessert, Charles knows he has made a very good case for why Picard is more than just a Frenchman with a British accent.  Erik, on the other hand, argues that had it not been for Kirk, Picard would be nothing.  They agree to disagree as soon as they have placed their dessert orders: two coffees and one of each tiramisu and panna cotta.

“Tell me more about your telepathy, Charles," Erik prompts as they wait. “How does it feel to have people’s thoughts around you? How do you cope with it?"

Charles hums and takes a sip of water to gather his thoughts, even though it is a subject he is very familiar with. It is the first time someone he is dating has shown any interest in his mutation. Then again, most of his past relationships tended to gloss over this particular part about him.

“Telepathy is one of the mutations that doesn't come with an off-switch. My awareness of thoughts is always there, passively in the back of my head. So I try to blur or block things out as best as I can to give them some privacy.  Not many people are as understanding about my gifts as you are.

"I will never read your thoughts without your permission, of course.”

“Charles." Erik says easily, calmly. "Tell me what I’m thinking about right now.”

“I can’t. No, I _couldn't._ ”

“Charles. This is me giving you permission.  Go ahead. Tell me what I am thinking.” Erik reaches over the table to take Charles' hand. His body language is projecting confidence.

Biting down on his lower lip, Charles slowly strips back the layers of his shielding like that of an onion. The thoughts flow inside his head like water filling a container, seeping into the ground that makes up Charles’ mind.

Erik is thinking a number of flattering things in his direction and his cheeks flare up in response.

“Erik…. I- That’s-”

“All of it completely true, Charles.”

“Erik…” he says, wont for a lack of response. Frankly, he’s a bit flustered. If they weren’t on their first date or in a public place, Charles would have flung himself over the table then and there and smothered the man in affection. As it is, Charles hopes there will be many more opportunities to come.

A comfortable silence reigns between them as they wait. Charles finds he enjoys having his hand enveloped by Erik’s larger one, the skin tingling where Erik’s thumb strokes back and forth fondly. There is a silly little smile on his face, he knows, but he is glad to see that there is one mirrored on Erik.

Their hands did not part until after Charles calls for the check and busily gropes himself for his wallet when the waiter returns, much to Erik's amusement.

The waiter leaves before Charles can flip his wallet open, leaving with a gold card tucked between the leather bill folder.

“Is something the matter, Charles?”

“I am not so destitute that I cannot afford dinner out every once in a while," Charles says with a huff, feeling slightly offended by Erik's actions. He hates having to owe anyone anything, especially if it is within his power to afford it.

Erik raises one of his eyebrows, looking unapologetic. "I have greatly enjoyed the pleasure of your company this evening. If you feel so strongly about going dutch, then you can pay me back by allowing me the honour of taking you home.”

“I… I see what you did there, mister,” Charles says, watching as Erik signs his name on the dotted line with a flourish. “Fine, but next time, I'll pay.”

“Whatever makes you happy, Charles,” Erik replies mildly as they don their many layers of clothing and walk out the door. Charles pretends that Erik’s hand on the small of his back doesn't fill him up with euphoria.

They stand outside for a minute, watching as the staff clears their table of plates and crockery in record time. “My place is about a ten minute walk from here. Shall we just walk then?” Charles asks.

“Sure.”

He offers one fingerless gloved hand shyly to Erik. Their palms fit nicely and their fingers thread together like vines. Charles feels flushed with joy, the cold cannot touch him now, and leads the way back to his apartment, pointing out the various landmarks along the way that Erik will likely never see in the daytime.

They stop outside his apartment after their walk, which is over far too quickly for Charles’ taste.

“It’s not much, but this is home. Would you like to come up?” Charles asks as he stands on the bottom step. It gives him the added advantage of being approximately the same height as Erik.

Erik smiles and shakes his head. “Perhaps next time. It is getting late and I’ll never hear the end of it from Raven if I don’t show up before my curfew.” He makes a face that leaves them both chuckling quietly.  “But definitely next time.”

Erik moves in.  Charles stands very still, wondering what on earth Erik could be up to until warm breath tickles the skin on his cheek and he feels lips makes contact there for a brief moment.

“I had fun tonight.”

Charles blinks, staring at his own reflection in Erik’s aviators. “Likewise. I look forward to our next date."

He clamps down on the whine when Erik moves to the side walk, detaching their fingers. A piercing whistle breaks the night sky and within seconds, a yellow cab trundles out of nowhere.

"Good night, Charles."

“Good night, Erik.”

He pulls out his phone as soon as he makes the foyer of his apartment, letting his fingers fly over the conductive glass. 

[ Would tomorrow be too soon? ]

Forcing himself not to stare at his screen like some love struck teenager waiting for a reply, Charles lopes up the stairs to his apartment, too impatient to wait for the elevator. The phone buzzes in his hand as he makes it to his floor.

[ I will, unfortunately, be inundated by meetings in the morning. I’ll try to free up my afternoon.  How about dinner? ]

At the prospect of dinner, Charles dances with glee at his door. It is short lived and Charles curses the day he ever took on his waitering job.

[ I’ll have to take a raincheck on dinner. Working tomorrow night :( ] _Damn night shifts and their mothers_ , Charles thinks darkly as he flings his jacket onto the couch. The phone he leaves in plain sight on top of his messy blankets.

"I have a boyfriend now," Charles says to himself, feeling all sorts of giddy as he looks around his living room. He will have to clean the detritus out at some point, but not right now. Not at this moment, where everything is wonderful and Charles swears there are unicorns somewhere barfing up rainbows.

There is a shark plushie sitting on top of his comfortable but battered arm chair, stashed in the corner where all his favourite novels are stacked up on the little table next to it.

"I can't believe it, Michael. Can you?" Charles does not wait for an answer, tucking Michael into the crook of his arm and petting the length of the plushie’s soft blue-grey fur with his palm. The shark used to be bigger and longer. Certainly the grey fuzzy fur used to be brighter.  Then again, everything tends to be when you are a young boy.

Everything feels surreal and he wonders how, in the span of a few days, he had gone from single and thoroughly lonely (and on the verge of losing his job) to entering boyfrienddom with the CEO of a world-famous toy company which had coincidentally taken over ownership of the Little Polar Bear.

Charles jumps when the phone buzzes, sending Michael tumbling to the floor, its fall cushioned by journal papers littered around his armchair. With a quick apology, Charles sets Michael back on its throne and nearly trips over his own feet getting to his phone.

He is pleasantly surprised to find that it is Erik that is calling him (who is he kidding here, Charles had hoped it would be Erik with possibly every fibre of his body). "Erik!"

"Hello Charles," Erik says, his voice smooth as butter and more delicious, "I will see you tomorrow afternoon.  Keep it free, unless of course you are busy with your characterization testing."

Charles flops onto his mattress and ignores the protests of his bed springs. Just the sound of Erik’s voice has his heart rate skyrocketing. "I have the tests scheduled for the morning so I'll be done to see you. I wasn't expecting you to call at all."

"Surprised Charles?" There’s a hint of amusement from the other end.

“Of the best kind." Charles rolls onto his stomach and stares out his window, smiling to himself. "Are you home yet?”

“Nearly there, another five minutes or so. I won’t keep you too long from sleeping or work.”

Charles sincerely doubts his ability to concentrate after tonight.  He was not even meant to have gone out at all tonight. Everything will have to be done tomorrow when he is waiting for the results.

“If I have panda eyes by tomorrow afternoon, then you will know which one I chose.”

There is a quiet laugh on the other side. Charles thinks it sounds fond. “Tomorrow cannot come soon enough. Good night again, Charles.”

“Sleep well, Erik.” He stretches out on his bed and gropes around on his nightstand for his phone’s charger, slotting the little fiddly bits together by touch.

“I have a boyfriend.” Charles announces to the room again in disbelief. He rolls onto his side and tries to hide his wide grin into his pillow.

* * *

Hanging up the scarf next to his jacket, Erik calls out through the house for Raven. There is the sound of the television somewhere in the house. He trades the aviators on his nose for a simple white mask that he wears only at home. 

“Welcome back, brother!"  Her footsteps thunder overhead, halting at the top of the stairs. "Are you decent? Did you have a good time?"

"Yes to both."

She storms down the stairs and throws herself at him. "Okay, on a scale of one to ten, how serious are you about Charles? Because he sounds like a really decent guy and it really wouldn’t do for you to toy with his heart.”

“And here I thought you were meant to be on my side." Erik comments as he closes his arms around her. "Blimey, I didn't expect the Inquisition.”

“Aha!" Raven crows as she drags Erik towards the living room, "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!  Anyway, you seem like you had a good time and I'm glad. If you don't stop smiling like that, your cheek muscles will be aching come tomorrow morning."

Erik instantaneously scowls for her benefit, however, the moment is ruined when Raven just laughs at him for his efforts as seconds later his traitorous face smooths out again.

“You are totally into him. Go you,” Raven crows as she pulls them down to sit, snuggling up against his side. She is a welcome weight against him, even if Raven is a pain in the ass sometimes.

“So, how are you going to tell him about the curse? Isn’t it going to be difficult in explaining why you cover up part of your face at all times?  To avoid _them_?”

“I can’t tell Charles. You know the consequences if I mention even a breath of it to him.  He must not know until-”

Raven sighs and plucks at his shirt sleeve with her fingers. “How are you even going to kiss Charles with that bulky thing on your face?”

“Well… I don't think that will be too much of an issue.”

“No. Wait what?" Raven pulls back, her eyebrows making way up towards her hairline. "You already kissed him? Way to go, big brother!” She cheers, waggling her eyebrows in a manner that makes Erik want to flee the immediate vicinity.

"It was only on the cheek," Erik grumbles, thankful that the mask hides most of his cheeks from view. “In any case, good night Raven. I will see you in the morning.”

“You can’t run away from my questions forever! I’ll just ask Charles the next time I see him about how you rank on the smoocheroo scale. Gosh, I'm going to have to tell Emma and Irene about this...”  Her cackles fade into the background as soon as he reaches the safety of the second floor and his bedroom.

He flicks his bedside lights on with a barely a thought and shuts the door behind him, getting ready for bed with military efficiency. "What a day," Erik murmurs to no one in particular as he climbs underneath his blankets.

He turns to look at the mouse soft toy that sits guardian to his lamp, basking in the soft golden glow, with its beady little eyes and grey fur.

“What a shame Charles doesn’t remember who I am, James,” Erik says to the toy, running a gently finger over its whiskers before picking up the Robert Ludlum novel and settling in for some light reading.


	3. Chapter 3

Alex does not typically wake up dreaming about sharks or about mice or anyone by the name James or Michael. 

The sound of his alarm is familiar to him, however, waking him up at stupid o'clock.

He does not dwell on the implications of his dream for very long for he has to get up and get ready to open shop. Shaw hates tardiness like he does everything else and Alex is determined to stay in his boss's good books for the rest of the month.

He pads softly out into the living room towards the kitchen, past Darwin and Angel who are asleep on the couch with a blanket thrown haphazardly over them. Sean and Hank had left after dinner, although both are more than welcome to crash on Alex's ample floor space.  On the other hand, Charles had been M.I.A. last night, but that in and of itself is not uncommon.

The Mr. Coffee on his kitchen counter twinkles at him in greeting despite the low morning light. Alex lets out a great yawn and grumbles at it before he manages to hit the right switch.

Next on the agenda is Alex's morning shower, designed to kick start his system into some semblance of order.  He nearly brains himself on the shower dish when his eyelids fall and his mind gets temporarily flooded by fond memories of a childhood he does not remember having.  It is a peaceful sort of floating impression and cheerful in a way only carefree children can achieve.

"Crap. Must be more tired than I thought," Alex murmurs as he scrubs his eyes with the heel of his hand and palms the water off with the other.

Stumbling into his uniform and downing whatever his coffee machine had sputtered out, Alex is out the door with his push bike.  The strange happy feeling deep within slowly disappears with each metre he cycles away.

* * *

Charles wakes up in the morning feeling absurdly happy, like all of a sudden he is a part of a Disney movie and it is all sunshine and singing birds (barring the fact that _Enchanted_ exists).  He cannot even muster some trickle of concern when the news of The Avengers saving the world at large once again from alien invasion floats over the BBC.

He cannot for the life of him remember what he dreamt of last night, but whatever his subconscious conjured up must have been good. Like all his batteries are supercharged and ready to take on the world.

The first thing he does on this particular morning is check his phone.  There are messages both from Erik and **_der_haifisch_**. 

He waits with bated breath as Erik's message loads.  [ Good morning, Charles. I hope you slept well. Is it strange that I found this particular sunrise more beautiful than yesterday's? Can't wait for the morning to be over. ] Charles thumbs over to the picture and smiles at the beautiful picture of a park, cast in half-shadow from the early light, set against a background of the sky painted in deep reds and purples.

It is a beautiful morning in New York.

He taps out a reply.  [ I was just thinking the exact same thing. This morning is indeed one of the very best I've had. Can't wait to see you this afternoon. ]

While waiting for Erik to hopefully reply, Charles switches apps with his thumb and reads the messages **_der_haifisch_** left for him.

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Can you believe my friends?  They got me Minecraft because they are all playing it.  Ever heard of it?  I might get into it if you play also. : D          8:42 AM_

 

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Yes. It does sound like fun, although I spend far too much time on the internet as it is.  I have heard good things about it though.          11:40 AM_

_Remember to look after yourself.  Otherwise, who will fix the rest of your stray toys?          11:42 AM_

_Also, you are correct.  Cheese toasties are delicious, no matter the time of day you have them.          1:08 PM_

 

Laughing at the messages, Charles decides to reply later and sets to making a cup of tea and some cheese toasties of his own.

 

* * *

Being a cabbie in the glorious city of New York has its perks. Darwin gets to listen to the jazz station for hours on end, and meets an assortment of interesting characters whilst driving through the streets.  He carefully cultivates a map of all the back roads any cabbie worth his license should know over his four years of driving.  It proves especially helpful during peak hour when angry customers are yelling over the sound of Dizzy Gillespie. And _that_ is just sacrilegious.

Coincidentally, this is how he met Angel late one afternoon, after her cabaret rehearsal spilled into overtime. It is also how he met Alex late one night during busy exam week and students were coming into Shaw's by the truckload.  And then there was the time when Hank and Charles stumbled into the backseat with a rather tipsy and giggly Sean sandwiched between them.

When he had been evicted from his apartment building by his landlord, Alex had been the first to offer his couch to him and Angel (and Sean’s also by extension). Alex stated that he had an old empty room and on top of that, they could split the rent which meant more money for Alex to spend elsewhere.  They moved in after their token protests were ignored.

Darwin cannot imagine living anywhere else now, without his friends and surrogate family so close. It brings a smile as he extricates himself from around Angel on Alex’s couch and begins to get breakfast ready.

He makes sure to cook extra pancakes, knowing Sean will want some after his solemn declaration that maple syrup and Darwin’s pancakes are the foods of gods. With such high praise, how could Darwin disappoint?

* * *

The NMR machines are being moody once again.  Thankfully, it is not the one Charles and Moira need to use as they prepare their samples for testing.

Charles is certainly not counting down the seconds until he gets to see Erik. He is also certainly not wondering about what Erik prefers for afternoon tea.  Moira is thinking, rather fondly and loudly, that her lab partner is an idiot knowing he can overhear. 

Charles wrinkles his nose in distaste for that particular thought, ignoring her smirk and settles in to complete as much work as he can before his date.

His phone vibrates in his pocket just as he finishes putting the last of their tubes into the queue.

"Off with you, Charles.  I have no more use for you when you are like a small child on a can of fizzy drink.  You'll owe me one for doing the cleaning up." Moira shoos him away before he can say another word.

With his latex gloves disposed of, Charles exits the lab in order to take the call. He does a small dance of glee when he looks down at his phone screen to see Erik's name emblazoned across it.

"Hello Erik."

“Charles?  Are you alright?  You sound a little out of breath.”

“Perfectly fine. I was just, uh, cleaning up when you rang.” Charles laughs at himself mentally for his smooth as peanut butter cover up.  He will have to take Moira out to dinner sometime to make it up to her.

Erik's voice sounds fond when he says, “Right then. Are you done?”

Charles nods eagerly before realising that Erik could not see him over the phone. “Yes I am. Where are you?”

There’s a small pause coming from the other side until Erik breaks the silence with a sheepish cough. “I’m actually outside your lab building now. There isn't any hurry.”

“Well why didn’t you say so sooner?” Charles asks as he shrugs out of his lab coat post haste.  "I'll be right out."

“I didn’t want to appear too eager, you see. I’ve never done this dating thing before and don’t know the proper etiquette for this kind of thing." There is a brief awkward pause, before Erik continues, "What exactly counts as acceptable boyfriend behaviour on the second day?”

Charles laughs as he hastily gathers his bag and dons his peacoat. “You’re doing splendidly, darling. I’ll see you soon yes?”

“Of course.” He makes his way down from the labs to the lower floors after ending the call.  There are students milling about, blocking the corridors, and generally making a nuisance of themselves. Charles gets snippets of conversation as he shoulders past the group, both mentally and verbally.

“…Scary guy standing outside…”

“... I wonder if he’s connected to the mafia. I wonder if he’s waiting for his mark before offing the poor sod...”

“… Definitely a model. Did you see those cheek bones and facial structure...”

“… Hey, hey! Did you watch Shark Week?...”

His telepathy clues him in, getting a particularly vivid image from someone. His boyfriend - and what a wonderful word that is, Charles thinks - does cut a very striking picture in a trench coat and a trilby, like Humphrey Bogart in _The Big Sleep_. (Would that make him Lauren Bacall then?)

Erik is standing outside with his hands in his trench coat pockets, looking gorgeous as he leans against the wall. He pushes off it with an easy sort of grace, like Erik had been born for this very purpose alone. Charles is just simply struck by how handsome Erik is, dressed in a coat that shows off his broad set of shoulders and slim waist, right down to his crisp pin-striped suit and signature aviators.

The smile on Erik’s face is toothy and makes Erik’s nose crinkle adorably. “Hello Charles.” 

How does this man even exist? Charles wonders and he struggles not to swoon. “I hope you haven’t been waiting out here too long?” Charles asks, mentally surprised he got his words out in the right order.

“Not very long. My meeting ended early, so I was hoping to tempt you away from your cells?”

“Consider myself tempted. Shall we have some afternoon tea then?” 

Erik is amenable to the idea and it is easy to slip his hand into Erik's warmer ones.

The door to Shaw's opens with a cheerful tinkle.  Charles spots Alex’s familiar crop of blonde hair as he flirts with his customers.

As soon as Alex turns in his direction in greeting and takes in the sight of their intertwined fingers, Charles can pinpoint the exact moment Alex's face turns impish.  He groans inwardly, wondering just how fast his phone will start chiming with congratulatory messages from their mutual contacts.

And he hadn’t even had the time to properly enjoy Erik yet.

“Professor X!” Kitty waves enthusiastically from behind the counter, “You never told me you got a boyfriend. I’m super jealous!”  The young girl grins as she gestures to Erik.

“Hello Kitty, this is Erik. Erik, this is Kitty. And over there by the coffee machine is Alex.  Alex lives on the same floor of my apartment.” Charles squeezes Erik’s hand tenderly. “I should think I am allowed to show off my very gorgeous arm candy.”

Erik chuckles and nods politely at Kitty.  "Pleasure to meet you, Kitty."

“And an absolute charmer. You are lucky, Charles," Kitty teases good-naturedly. "So what’ll it be, Mr. Erik?”

“Coffee, dash of milk, no sugar and whichever pie you'd recommend. Thanks.”

“Put it on my tab. Why don’t you ever ask me what I want any more, Kitty?” Charles asks as he watches her fingers jab at the touch screen to ring up the order.  He receives an eye roll from Kitty for his efforts.

“That’s because everyone knows your order. Earl Grey, loose leaf, steeped with boiling water at precisely four and a half minutes, served in the biggest bucket we can find and a ham and cheese sandwich,” Alex answers with cheeky grin.

“Yeah, we know the drill by now since you’ve drilled it into our heads about the proper way of making tea,” Kitty chimes in, giving Charles the thumbs up.  "We'll bring it out to you."

“Just for that, I want tomato in my sandwich today. See what I have to deal with?” Charles turns to look at Erik, whose lips are quirked upwards in amusement.

They shuffle off to sit down.

“They know you very well,” Erik comments. “Professor X?”

Charles laughs and runs his thumb over Erik’s knuckle. “I may or may not have tutored all of the student staff here at some point. I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

“Brains and brawn. You’re the total package, aren’t you?”

He gives a wink. “What you have experienced is merely a small sliver of the Xavier charm.”

“Should I be worried about having to defend my territory? Stake my claim? Scent marking?” Erik grins at him from over the green wooden table.

“Please tell me you come toilet trained,” he teases in turn, peering lazily through his eyelashes at Erik.

Erik leans his head forward a little, undoubtedly a sexy line upon the tip of his tongue when Alex barges in with their order. “No hanky panky. The slice of cake is on the house. The boss man doesn’t like either the hanky panky or the free cake,” Alex warns them as he thrusts a thumb over his shoulder where Charles sees Sebastian Shaw glaring at them from where Kitty was. Well.  It is comforting to know that someone aside from him was not getting any either.

Once Alex leaves them to it, Charles picks up his mug by the handle and blows over the surface. “But it is ever so much fun to shamelessly flirt,” Charles comments with a soft sigh.

“I like it. I’m learning all sorts of things about my boyfriend. Tell me more.”

Charles shoots Erik an amused look. “What else do you want to know?”

“All the things a good boyfriend ought to remember.” Erik raises an eyebrow when he laughs. “Just to have all my bases covered.”

“Things a boyfriend ought to know… Okay. Birthday? Pets? Favourite books? Favourite animal? Bank account details and pin?” Charles lists with a cheeky smile on his face.

Erik snorts and shakes his head as he takes a sip of his coffee. “Really? What kind of telepath are you if you don't know all of that already.” He vaguely gestures in the air to mime telepathy (or Charles hopes).

“I have morals as a telepath, thank you very much,” he retorts, feeling a little affronted for having his mutation insulted.

Erik chuckles, leaning over the table. “I do apologise, Charles. To answer your questions, my birthday is on November 18th making me a Scorpio. We have no pets - though Raven wanted a chameleon as a pet. I like reading books penned by Tom Clancy - Rainbow Six shines above the rest. I like all animals equally.  As for the rest, you’ll just have to figure that out through other means.”

Up this close, Charles can smell Erik’s aftershave and another scent that strangely reminds him of watermelons.  It is delicious. “If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it kind of means?”

“Surely, that constitutes as moving too fast,” Erik says between bites of cake.

He laughs and winks, “ _Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn_.” The quote earns him a laugh.

“ _Go ahead, make my day_.” Erik’s Clint Eastwood impression is spot on.

He can’t help retorting, “Now, that’s very forward, Erik. Nice boys don’t put out till the third date and after dinner at least.” Charles grins impishly.

“Is that right? I am hoping that is a when and not an if sort of statement.” Erik murmurs. A warm hand reaches out casually to rest against the side of Charles’ face, a large thumb stroking over one of his cheeks. “Tell me then Charles, what are your likes and dislikes?”

“I was born on September 29th, like Elizabeth Gaskell. My favourite book is unreservedly _The Once and Future King_ by T. H. White. I had a dog once, an Old English Sheepdog by the name of Shep that used to shed all over everything. I don’t really have a favourite animal either. I use to ride a Vespa unless it is broken,” Charles pauses briefly to gather the rest of his thoughts, “Also, cornflower blue is an amazing colour and I tend to wear it a lot.”

Erik hums softly and then pulls away, much to his soft verbal disappointment. “Now, tell me Charles, which of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s-”

“Phantom of the Opera, hands down. All I Ask of You. Unless that wasn’t what you were asking me at all?” Charles bites into his bottom lip, wondering if his telepathy is bringing him to new heights of being _that annoying boyfriend with the freaky mind powers who just happens to guess the right answer at things_. 

“No, you are correct.  This will take some getting used to, having someone know what I'm thinking.” Erik gives him a lopsided grin and pauses when in deep thought. “Did you say September 29th? That’s coming up soon. Did you have plans?”

Charles hums thoughtfully. "I didn't have anything in particular planned out. Are you going to kidnap and have your wicked way with me?"

“I would be delighted to have my wicked way with you sans the kidnapping. I think I like my victims willing,” Erik says with a roguish smile and a half shrug.

Charles feels his face flush. “I actually wouldn’t mind a night in, watching a movie with popcorn on my couch.  Maybe some cuddling.”

"We can do that any day of the week.  This is your birthday, Charles.  It only comes around once every year. We are going out," Erik declares.  The man makes a strong point.

"There really isn't any need to go and celebrate. We can order pizza and make a night of it.  Maybe even a game of chess or two?"

The pads of Erik's fingers brush against the inside of Charles' wrist, the skin there tingling delightfully and causing Charles to shiver at the contact. “Charles, I want to give you nice things. We will have many nights in, whenever you like.”

He knows when to admit defeat and twines his fingers around Erik’s. "Very well. You win. Just for that, we'll have a night in tomorrow?"

Erik pauses, looking thoughtfully at their hands for a moment before sighing softly with a shake of his head.  "I can't tomorrow.  I'm leaving for an overnight trip to LA.  But what of Friday? We can have some Chinese and catch a movie."

He sends a smile in Erik’s direction. "I'd be delighted to spend the night with you.  Now I don't think we ever finished our discussion on Q's apparent precognitive abilities.  How on earth does he always know just what 007 needs?"

They while away what little time they had together with discussions and witty banter until Charles’ had to leave for work.  Erik, being the gentleman, gave Charles a lift and a sweet parting kiss.

* * *

Alex is tired by the time the afternoon shift ends and he cycles home, weaving through traffic and yelling at crazy ass drivers on the way. No one is home at this hour which means Alex lies in a happy sprawl on his couch. Angel is at her dress rehearsal and Darwin will be picking her up when she is done. He has to tell _somebody_ about Charles and Charles’ arm candy.

There is the sound of someone putting their key into their door down the corridor. It is not Sean, since he hardly locks his, and Charles is working the night.  The only logical conclusion is that Hank is home.

Alex makes his way out of the door to intercept his favourite scientist. “Beast!” Alex calls out before the lanky man can even begin removing his key from the door. "Did you know about Charles?"

Hank readjusts the glasses on his nose before shooting a questioning glance in reply.  “And what is it about Charles that I am supposedly meant to know?”

"Oh man. I need to tell you all about it.  Come over for a beer."

Alex had not always been friends with his socially awkward neighbour. And he reflects upon their relationship as he opens up the fridge and tosses a can over. They had not exactly gotten off on the right foot, but things have finally settled from an awkward kind of acquaintanceship to an awkward kind of friendship.

There is no two ways of saying it and not one to mince his words, Alex blurts out, “He has a man thing.”

The kitchen clock ticks and the silence is filled by the sound of beer cans being opened. “I’m sorry,” Hank says at length, “Could you clarify? What exactly is a man thing?”

“An arm squeeze, some man candy. He has an S.O. I saw them today at Shaw’s. His man thing looks super shady. I don’t think he’s good for Charles.  He could be a serial killer from Europe for all we know.  Maybe he’s part of a human trafficking ring. We don’t have any money to pay for ransom. We have to make sure-”

Hank looks like he is trying very hard not to laugh and Alex glares at him for not trying harder at containing his mirth.

“ _I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you, I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills; skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let Charles go now, that'll be the end of it. I will not look for you, I will not pursue you. But if you don't, I will look for you, I will find you, and I will kill you,_ ” Hank recites. 

“Stop being ridiculous Alex.  I am sure this is good for Charles and he knows exactly what he’s getting into.”

Grumbling, Alex takes a long swallow of his beer. He lets the subject matter drop and tries to play the part of ever gracious host. It is not necessarily bad when Hank compares one to Liam Neeson.

* * *

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Aloha!          12:10 PM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Groovy. It has been a long while since we have managed to be online at the same time.          12:12 PM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_On my lunch breka now. It has been a long time since I've had one of those.           12:15 PM_

_*break           12:16 PM_

_How have you been?           12:16 PM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_You need to eat more, friend. I am well, thank you. Yourself?          12:19 PM_  

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Sorry about taht, had to find somewhere to sit.  It's so packed today at the coffee shop!           12:35 PM_

_*that Ugh shocking spelling today.           12:36 PM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_That's what you get for turning off autocorrect, Groovy.          12:37 PM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Other than that, I have been absolutely great.  : )           12:41 PM_

_What about you?  How goes the business trip you mentioned last time? Are you back home yet? I'm sorry I talk about myself all the time : (           12:43 PM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Your life is by far more interesting than mine, so by all means tell me all about it.          12:47 PM_

_The trip is fine.  There's nothing more to say really.          12:51 PM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Awww.  Come on Hai, I want deatils!  Tell me the exciting bits that isn't you being cooped up inside. Goodness knows I get enough of that already with labowkr.          12:53 PM_

_*details and labwork.  My fingers are dyslexic today...          12:53 PM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Lol. Okay. I went to a beachside cafe to do some reading. It was pleasant.  So, wasn't a complete waste of time.          12:55 PM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Awww.  That sounds lovely Hai. I haven't gone to the beach in so long. But every time I do go, sand invariably gets everywhere and then I avoid it like the plague until I get hit with the need to go again.          12:58 PM_

_It's a terrible cycle.          12:58 PM_

_And I should probably go soon.  Lunch break over. :' (          12:58 PM_  

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Take care, Groovy.          12:59 PM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_See you soon Hai!          1:02 PM_  

* * *

As expected, Charles’ new relationship does not remain very secret for very long.

His phone chirps every so often, letting him know it was yet another email notification from someone who had found out after Alex changed his Facebook relationship status.  (Admittedly, it is Charles' fault for never logging out on his phone and leaving it on the table for Alex to hack into.  He regrets adding Erik so soon for this very reason.  Stupid hindsight.)

Thanks to that act, there is a steady flow of congratulations and like notifications.  Charles hopes he does not have to resort to changing his security settings - he is a lazy - and that in a day or two, the next best thing will come and leave his poor email alone.

Moira congratulates him on his new found relationship the next time he walks into the lab, a wide grin on her face as if they have finally made the all important breakthrough.

"It's about time!" she exclaims with a sort of exasperated air about her. Charles suspects she knew through Sean as they are dating, but his lab partner has always been very resourceful. "You've been single since forever.  You let me know if I have to kick some ass."

Charles thanks her, laughing good-naturedly at her offer. "Who’s to say that it isn't my ass that needs kicking?"

With pointed look, she says with a smirk, "I didn't specify who's ass I was going to kick.  _That_ offer is always on the table."

He smiles sunnily in return, hardly affected by her threat when her mind radiates such fondness. And thereafter, they settle into a comfortable working silence, broken intermittently by the scratching of biro on paper and the steady quiet whirl of machinery around them.

As soon as the academic day is over, Charles groans and rolls his stiff shoulders.  Being hunched all day has to be bad for his posture.  "Thank goodness it's Friday," he declares as he changes out of his lab coat and trades it for his overcoat.

"Got a hot date tonight?" Moira asks.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Charles winks as he shoulders his bag.  "Have fun tonight with Sean," he adds, breezing out the lab door to the sound of Moira's laughter in the background.

He reads through the messages he had been exchanging with Erik on the walk home, laughing at the one where Erik had been forced by his secretary to hand over the phone in order to get some work done.  Raven, later, had texted in capitals stating her glee at their fledgling romance.

Charles jumps into the shower as soon as he gets home, humming nonsensical tunes to himself as he pulls on his date worthy clothes. Most of what he is wearing has not seen an iron in quite some time - usually Charles has them draped over pieces of furniture in the hopes that gravity will smooth out the worst of the wrinkles - but Charles had made an effort to do his laundry early and spent an hour juggling the logistics of ironing as he read.

Giving up on taming his hair, Charles grabs his keys, wallet and phone and is out the door. He takes a cab to Time Square and arrives only a few minutes early which is a miracle and testament to New York cabbies.

He spots Erik first.

With a wave and a cheerful call of his name, Charles pulls Erik in for a welcome back hug.

"Hello Charles. Aren't you a sight for sore eyes," Erik says as he brushes a quick kiss hello to one of Charles' cheeks.

"I've missed you. How was your flight?" he asks as they make the short walk to their reservation at Wu Liang Ye, one of New York's best Sichuan restaurants. Charles knows he is a bit of a lightweight when it comes to spicy food, but with sufficient amounts of water, he is game enough to try anything on the menu.

Erik shrugs as they turn the corner and walk up 48th Street until they reach the restaurant.  "Like all flights: tiring, too long with mediocre in-flight entertainment and let us not talk about the food.  Let's just say I'm really glad to be back in New York."

Charles nods sympathetically as they are shown to their table, knowing how it is when he is asked to give guest lectures over in Stanford from time to time.

Dinner turns out to be as hot as Charles remembers Sichuan cooking to be.  Ma Po Tofu and the Kung Pao Chicken set his tastebuds on fire, although he greatly enjoyed the West Lake Beef Soup which had been a very welcome reprieve against a sea of chilli. Erik had been silently laughing at him throughout dinner despite being in a similar state.

"Excellent dinner," Erik says as they walk hand in hand out back the way they came.

Charles hums in agreement, glad that they settled to see _The Hobbit_ over dinner. He squeezes Erik's hand fondly, smiling to himself.

"Something the matter?"

He shakes his head. "Not at all.  Just very content with life. I'm glad to have you by my side."

Erik says nothing, he does not have to. The soft, gentle kiss against the side of his temple says it all.


	4. Chapter 4

All of a sudden, things in the lab pick up pace and Charles finds himself completely consumed by the work that threatens to overwhelm them.  He is in correspondence with five professors all over the globe and of the scant few hours he spends outside of the lab, Charles is organising something that is related to his experiments or sleeping a handful of hours before he is back in a lab coat once more.  He has had to reschedule his dates with Erik, who had been completely understanding and wonderful about the entire thing. But every time he has to cancel, Charles feels terrible.

When things have finally calmed down, Moira bars him from returning to the lab on Tuesday afternoon. Charles is mildly confused by her behaviour and more than a little ruffled since he cannot just leave his experiments hanging. "I have a date on Thursday afternoon, so you can make it up to me then.  I can't believe I'm going to say this, but go home. See if Erik is free and do something that isn't _this_ for the span of a few hours.  I say we've more than earned it."

Charles nods dutifully, knowing better than to argue with Moira when it comes to this and gives Erik a call, and to hopefully entice him with a casual dinner and a date with his couch tonight.

"I'll bring the Thai.  Your place at 7 then?"

He is entirely grateful and promises to see Erik soon.

It has been more than a week since he has last seen Erik and it is quite alarming that he can picture what a dioxygenase 1 gene looks like better than he can remember his own boyfriend's face.  This is completely and utterly shameful.  Charles stubbornly forces himself to forget about the lab as he cleans up around the house, showers and waits for Erik to show up with the promised Thai dinner.

His doorbell rings precisely at 5 minutes to 7. Charles unfurls himself from his couch, where he had been working on fixing little Timmy's broken train, and goes to opens his door. Erik has several plastic bags in his hand and a smile on his face, which Charles fully reciprocates.

"You're early," Charles comments as he opens the door wide to let Erik in.

Erik toes off his shoes and gives a cheeky grin.  "I really missed you?"

"You incorrigible flirt.  I've missed you too, darling. Come this way and I'll go get us some plates.  What would you like to drink?  I've got a half-finished bottle of red somewhere." Charles asks, as he quickly rifles through his cupboards and produces some crockery.

"That sounds perfect.  I bought Pad Thai and Pad Kee Mao along with some moneybags and some Fried ice-cream. Where would you like the food?" Erik asks as he places the bags on the counter.

"Just on the plates will do.  Have I mentioned my utter adoration for you, darling, for bringing such a feast into my house?”

Charles receives a smirk in reply. “Not lately, but it does bear mentioning more often.”

They curl up on the couch, warm food in their laps and hell bent on watching Charles' James Bond Collection from start to as close to the finish as they can. The legendary theme song plays when _Dr. No_ starts playing.

Halfway through the movie, Charles picks up their plates and returns with two twin mugs of tea.  He leaves them on his coffee table and curls back up against Erik's side. 

Towards the end of the movie, Charles gets that dreaded feeling in his stomach.  The type where he thinks he has completely forgotten to do something with the consequence of setting back all the progress made in the past few weeks. The feeling festers in his stomach and he loses all focus when _From Russia with Love_ plays.

Erik, the saint of a man that he is, seems to pick up on Charles' bad feeling. “Go call Moira if it makes you stop fidgeting,” he says, half in amusement and half in exasperation. Charles kisses Erik’s cheek in apology and quickly bolts off the couch to make the call.

His system floods with relief when Moira explains that she has taken care of everything. Charles professes his love for her, on a professional level of course, over the phone.  She laughs in reply and tells him to get off the phone before Erik hunts her down.

Leaving his phone to charge, Charles pecks Erik’s cheek again and settles down into the warmth of Erik’s arms.  He rearranges Erik’s arm to drape over his shoulder and snuggles in.

“You’re the best boyfriend I could ever ask for,” Charles finds himself murmuring and he knows he wouldn’t trade this point in time for anything in the world.

* * *

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Hai!  How are you, buddy? Hoping all is well in your slice of the world.        5:22 PM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Hello groovy.  I am indeed, thank you. I hope I find you in a similar situation?        11:55 PM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Hey!  You will find I am more or less the same. It’s been such a long time since I last caught you online. Been busy?         12:02 AM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Very. Although it probably pales in comparison to yours. How about you? Lab stuff still eating up all your time?        12:04 AM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_I’m very glad to hear things working out for you, my friend. Labwork is one thing that is. You know how someone asked me out the other day.         12:05 AM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Yes.  You didn't tell me what happened.        12:07 AM_

_How did you meet her?        12:09 AM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_A he actually.         12:13 AM_

_I hope this doesn’t make things awkward?         12:15 AM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Why should it? It’s no business of mine as long as he makes you happy. I’m happy for you : )        12:22 AM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Thank you, hai. : D You know how I have that waitering gig? My step-father and brother were there also. Of all the nights for me to be the biggest klutz in the world. I cut myself.  Anyway, long story short, it turns out he’s good at first aid and he asked me out. I said yes.           12:23 AM_

_hai?         12:33 AM_

_Have you fallen asleep again, my friend?         12:40 AM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Sorry about that, groovy. I went to take a shower. I’m glad to hear you had such an eventful week and I hope you’re very happy with him.        12:54 AM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Oh. Thank you, hai. : D         12:55 AM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_You’re very welcome. Now tell me, did that wire hack fix work?        12:55 AM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_It did actually, but I had to solder it in place. I’m still waiting for the store to stock the paint I ordered from two weeks back.          12:56 AM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_Only you would worry about something as trivial as a paint job when fixing these toys, groovy.        12:57 AM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_These toys are the only thing these kids own. A quick coat of paint does wonders and the looks on their faces are always worth it.          12:57 AM_

_Anyway, I’m sorry, but I have to go now. : ( Got to get up early tomorrow otherwise Moira will kill me. I hope to speak to you soon!          12:58 AM_

**_der_haifisch_ **

_I’m certain we will.        12:59 AM_

**_groovy_oxfordian_ **

_Goodnight, hai.          12:59 AM_

* * *

Erik gets accosted by one of Charles' neighbour, who politely introduces himself as Sean, the next time he is invited over to finish off watching James Bond. Unfortunately, Charles is running late, which makes him a prime target for Sean and the rest of Charles' neighbours.

He finds himself seated at Sean's table, in what appears a night spend playing board games.

There is a healthy dose of awkward as he gets interrogated by the blonde by the name of Alex and a nervous fidgeting brunette named Hank, neither of whom can persuade him into removing his aviators. He raises an eyebrow when they coin him ‘Charles’ man thing’.

“Be that as it may, I’m fairly certain the term boyfriend will suffice,” Erik says as he eyes the stack of board games on Sean’s dining table.

Angel crows and cackles with a chilling sort of glee as her wings flutter behind her. “I totally called it!  I told you I saw Charles smooching someone the other night.”

“You wouldn’t have noticed if I hadn’t seen them making doe eyes at one another at Shaw’s,” Alex says as he helps set up Risk.

Angel rolls her eyes. "This was _way_ before you saw them.  Pay up, boys."

Sean shakes his head. "No proof, no deal."

"But I respect their privacy.  I could _never_ take incrementing photos of such a budding relationship."

Erik hears someone - possibly Alex - grumble _bullshit_ under his breath.  Evidently, Angel is sneakier than her name implies.

“So Erik," Darwin says, with a gentle hand on his shoulder that feels heavy.  Out of all of Charles' neighbours, Darwin seems the most calm and trustworthy. (Not to say that Sean, Alex and Angel are _not_.  Erik just feels more apprehensive when faced against their special brand of crazy.)

"Do we have to give you the ‘if you hurt him speech, we will hurt you’ spiel?”

Erik raises an eyebrow at that. “I’m sure Charles can handle himself fine. We don’t have to resort to violence, unless, of course, it is of the world domination kind.” He waves a hand over the board, making the metal tokens quiver.

He gives all of them a shark like grin. And, although, it has been many years since he last played Risk, Erik did not plan on losing.

Charles finally makes an appearance, after an hour of gameplay, looking suitably sheepish. His hair is ruffled, in a very sexy kind of manner, and Erik greatly enjoys their kiss hello when his boyfriend walks in through Sean’s door. He notes with a sort of satisfaction that the others get merely a word of greeting. “I am so terribly sorry for making you wait.  I hope you had a good night, darling?”

Erik waves off the apology. Charles works himself far too hard and rests far too little for Erik's liking. “Don't mention it. It happens and I know how busy you are. I had a lovely time getting to know your neighbours and destroying their nations.”

“It figures you’d be good at a strategic world domination game, love.”  Erik hums nonchalantly when Charles presses another kiss to his cheek and wanders away to find a chair to sit on. Smiling, he turns back to the board where only Hank and Angel are left pitifully defending against the oncoming onslaught.

This is how Erik wins himself with a permanent invitation to all subsequent Board Game Nights.

* * *

Charles meets Irene Adler - Raven's girlfriend - for the first time when he gets invited to an evening dinner with the Lehnsherr family and she opens the door before he even knocks.

He has never met a person with the power of precognition before and Charles finds himself rather pleasantly surprised when her first words to him are "I have been looking forward to this meeting, Charles Xavier.  We were destined to meet tonight."

"Splendid," Charles says, shrugging out of his coat when Irene offers to hang it up for him. "Thank you very much.  I don't believe I caught your name, however."

Irene smiles serenely. "That is because I have not offered it. Yet."

As if summoned, Raven appears out of thin air and curls an arm around Irene's waist.  "Charles! I am very glad to see you could make it tonight. Please allow me to introduce you to this extraordinary lady here. This is Irene Adler.  I suppose you already know who our guest is."

"Yes. It is my prerogative as a precognitive." Irene says, a touch of smugness evident in her tone of voice. "My apologies, Charles."

Charles almost misses her apology when his mind hones in on Irene and her power. "No harm done, Irene.  I just hope you do not mind if I ask questions about your gift throughout the evening.  Although, I wager you probably know what questions I will ask before I even think of them."

This causes Irene to laugh. "My powers do not quite work like that, but certainly. Shall we go ahead to the living room so Charles can meet the others?"

Raven smiles, agree naturally, and leads the way.  There he meets Erik's telepathic secretary friend again who turns out to be a lovely lady by the name of Emma Frost and a curious teleporter lawyer named Azazel - just Azazel, comrade - with the most wonderful prehensile tail Charles has ever had the chance to observe close up. They also happen to be two of Erik's oldest friends.

A glass of red wine is placed into Charles' hand and he happily takes up residence on one of the leather armchairs.  They run through the typically gamut of questions: How did you meet Erik?, What do you do for a living?, That is an interesting accent, where were you born? and What is your gift?

Charles is surprised he had not met Emma much earlier, considering how closely their family's social circles ran.  She is as delightful as she is It is always delightful to meet a fellow telepath and Charles thinks this is the beginning of quite a wonderful friendship.  Emma agrees with that thought mentally, intruding with the subtlety of a hurricane.

 _Rude!_ Charles sends back, lacing the thought with amusement just in case Emma misunderstands, and beefs up his mental shields.  Emma's laughter, a sort of tinkling crystal sound filled with genuine mirth, fades slowly from his mind.

"Oh sugar.  I _like_ you.  If you and Erik ever break up for whatever reason..." Emma lets the sentence hang in the air and ignores Raven's sharp gasp.

"That will _never_ happen!  You kept saying my brother wouldn't stop thinking about Charles!"

Emma nods sagely. "All the time.  Wouldn't shut up thinking about you," she says with a smirk after taking a sip of her red wine.  "You are quite terrible on productivity. But all is forgiven since you are as cute as a button."

Charles laughs softly. "Thank you, I think?"

" _Da_ , you should.  She hardly compliments anyone," Azazel hums as his tail waves lazily behind him.  The Russian has happily claimed a bottle of vodka as his own, making steady headway into it.  Charles is not too sure what to make of Erik's old college roommate, but so far, he would not mind spending more time getting to know Azazel better.

"Speaking of, where _is_ Erik?" Charles asks.

"You mean to say you aren't exchanging nauseating cavity-inducing thoughts mentally?" Irene asks, one eyebrow raised.

Emma shudders and then drains the last of the wine in her glass.  "Please, Irene.  I don't need to be privy to those thoughts.  I am subjected enough when at work.  Do you know how much of a one-track mind your brother has, Raven?"

Raven chooses to laugh in reply.

Thankfully, Erik chooses that moment to walk in, looking stupidly dapper even in an apron and a simple white Venetian mask. He is holding a ladle which at least solves one of the mysteries whilst being presented with another one. Charles finds himself attracted to the sight either way.

Erik walks over to him and leans over the armrest, planting a quick kiss to Charles' cheek.

"Mmm, hello darling. I've missed you," Charles purrs low enough so only Erik hears.  He ignores the very loud looks Raven is undoubtedly exchanging with Emma.

Erik chuckles softly. "Hello indeed."  Charles watches as he straightens up and folds his arms over his broad chest.

"Alright you ungrateful sods.  Lasagne is ready.  Move your asses so I can do all sorts of naughty things to my boyfriend here."

"Ew brother!  Keep it PG, _please_.  And if you keep staring at him like that, I swear to an unspecified deity, that clothes will start flying.  I don't want to be here to observe that.  Erik?  Erik!  Stop eye-fucking Charles!"

* * *

 With how busy Charles has been, his circadian rhythm has no chance of recovering unless he chooses to make like a bear and hibernate in order to pay off his sleep debt.  This is not likely going to happen any time soon.

It comes to no one’s surprise when Charles ends up forgetting his own birthday.

Charles wakes up to the sound of heavy knocking on his door.  With a low groan, Charles stumbles out of his warm bed, grumbling the entire way as he shivers to the door.  Not even the flannel pyjamas can separate the cold from his skin.

"Raven!  Good morning!" Charles exclaims in surprise when he sees her standing outside.  He must look a mess, with his voice thick with sleep and his messy hair making a convincing bird's nest impression.

"What on earth are you doing here?  Has something happened to Erik?"

Raven shakes her hand and hands over a large dry cleaning bag. "Erik is fine.  I came to give you some help.  Here, come give me a hand." Charles takes a peek around his doorway and looks at the assortment of bags that line the side of his corridor.

“Come in, make yourself at home." He takes some of the bags closest to the door inside and steps aside so Raven can also enter the apartment.  What on earth could be inside them that would warrant Raven to be here personally?  "What’s this for?” Charles asks, draping the bags carefully over the back of his couch.

“You’re lucky to have me as your future sister-in-law, you know? I brought over a tux, because I wasn’t sure if you owned one. But I figured there isn’t any harm in having another one anyway," Raven pauses and dumps the rest of the bags onto his unmade bed.  She looks him up and down and Charles feels oddly self-conscious in his sky blue gingham flannel pyjamas.

"You _do_ remember that my brother is taking you out tonight, right?  You know, since it is your birthday and all?”

“What are you talking about, Raven? It's not my birthday,”  Charles scoffs.  It had been Friday yesterday.  That much Charles still remembers. He still had another week or so until his birthday. Surely.  Raven showing up on his doorstep had shaken his confidence in remembering the date correctly though.

“Charles, tell me what is today’s date,” Raven asks. She folds her arms over her grey turtleneck and raises an eyebrow at him.

“Wait… what?" He scrambles for his phone on his bedside table and presses it awake. There are an assortment of text messages waiting for him that he ignores for now in order to hunt down how to find the date on his phone.  "It’s September 29th- Oh. _OH_. So it _is_ my birthday.”

Raven is amused by this even as his cheeks flare up from embarrassment. “You silly goose.  Congratulations on making another 365 days around the sun. In addition to the tux, I have brought suits. You will have to try them all since I don’t know your size. Go on then, strip. I promise I won’t look.” She grins mischievously and waves her hands at him.

If it had been possible, Charles is convinced his face got hotter. “I’m sure they’ll fit me,” he manages to stutter out and waves a hand weakly in the direction of the dry cleaning bags.

She appears to not have heard him and picks up the bag at the top of the stack, unzipping the sides efficiently. “Be that as it may, I want to know which one you like best. You aren’t getting rid of me that easily, not after all the trouble I went to in hauling everything over.”

Charles sighs softly, "You aren't going to leave until I try on everything, are you?"

"Nope.  Here, try this one." She hands over a suit and then says, "I couldn't decide whether this one or the next five I want you to try on look the best, since obviously my tastes and yours are ever so different. And, even though my idiot brother is already head over heels for you, it never hurts to make him fall over his ankles either."

Charles pauses for a minute, contemplating Raven's words.  "I'm not quite sure that-"

"Neither am I!  Don't think too hard on it," she chirps cheerfully and pushes him towards his bathroom. "Now go."

Raven certainly made herself at home. Five suits later and several mugs of Earl Grey later - Charles might be low on groceries, but tea leaves he had in abundance - she declares that the first one turned out to be the best in her opinion.  Charles is inclined to agree.  "I wasn't very sure about the lapels, but the cut looks good on you."

He stares at his reflection in the mirror and hums. This new suit does show off his shoulders better than the others and Charles has to admit his old suit is starting to show its tattered age.

"You know Charles, you have very interesting paper weights." And she is right.  His stacks of journal papers are held down by a variety of toys in various stages of repair.  There is a train on one, a mechanised bear on another, and a horse dressed up like a noble steed in the far corner near a half-finished game of chess.

She is thinking loudly enough for him to overhear about how Charles may be secretly some kind of toy fetishist.

"They aren't mine, Raven," Charles explains as he slips out of the suit jacket.  He watches Raven frown and hears her loudly thinking about how those that are guilty are always in denial.  It is like a train wreck and Charles winces internally as Raven's thoughts take a turn for the weird.

"No seriously.  You have it all wrong." He bites down on his lower lip, feeling awful about using his powers without Raven's permission to read her thoughts. "I am sorry. I could not help but overhear your thoughts when you are thinking so, uh, passionately about the subject matter."

“These toys belong to the children at the homeless shelter I volunteer at. As you can see, some of them need to be repaired. So I take them home with me and fix them in my spare time.  That's all.”

"You are a regular saint aren't you?" Raven's face brightens when the corners of her mouth pull upwards to reveal white teeth.  "Never mind the telepathy thing.  I can forgive you because you are adorable. 

"And one of these days, I think I’ll be expected down at City Hall to bear witness to your wonderful and sanctimonious marriage to my brother. Now we’ll see which bowtie fits this best and then I’ve got shoes you need to try on afterwards and then I think lunch. Would you allow me to give you a haircut?  Maybe a little bit of product?"

He glowers at her before disappearing into his bathroom again to change back into his flannel pyjamas. “Don’t touch the hair, Raven.”

* * *

It is hard to ignore the impulse to use his magnetism to lift up the limo and fly all the way to Charles' apartment a la Inspector Gadget.  It is awful how terrible New York's traffic can get.  Had it not been for the fact that Erik wanted to go the whole nine yards with giving Charles the most perfect birthday in the history of birthday gifts, he would have asked a favour from Azazel and avoided the limo altogether.

He is nervous, insofar as Erik ever gets. He is uncertain if Charles will like what he has planned for the evening. After all, a surprise present can only go so far when one is giving it to a telepath who are notoriously difficult to shock.

Emma had taught him some shielding techniques, but those can only be so effective and Erik can only hope he had been successful in implementing his multiple lines of thought or hiding the present behind a mental iron curtain. The answer would present itself soon enough.

And then there had been Raven, who had mysteriously been out of the house all day. Under the guise of being busy - Erik completely calls shenanigans - Raven had studiously ignored his calls for help. At long last, Raven finally texted him to wish him luck, not to panic, and to advise him on which tux he ought to wear with what tie and his Phantom mask affixed to his face.

As soon as the limo arrives, Erik launches himself out of the backseat and onto the sidewalk. His velvet lined cape is a staple to his Phantom costume. Erik rings the bell for Charles’ flat.

A window opens above him and Charles’ breathless voice yells out, “Just give me a minute, Erik!  I’ll be right down.” Erik looks up, squinting to see if he can make out Charles’ face, but his boyfriend had already closed the window and retreated back inside.

He eyeballs the door and, with the weather being the capricious bitch that it is, surreptitiously unlatches the locking mechanism with his powers to wait inside the lobby where it is infinitely warmer.

What could possibly be the cause of Charles' breathlessness? Had he possibly not been expecting Erik at such a time? True, he had not exactly disclosed his plans for the night, but Erik is certain his intentions to take Charles out for dinner has been obvious since the beginning.

But that still doesn't explain why Charles sounded like he had just run a marathon. What if he had been having sex with someone because Erik had not been putting out? He is fairly certain things like that usually happened after the third date (or so Raven and her TV dramas say).

The elevator pings and the doors open just as Erik is about to take it up and storm the castle, as it were.  Charles steps out looking swanky and spectacularly dashing.  Realisation dawns on him as he realises what kind of busy Raven had gotten up to earlier.

“Good evening, Erik.  You look very handsome tonight,” Charles says, happiness radiating from him out of every pore as he approaches.  Charles' hair is combed back and his blue eyes are sparkling.  Erik can feel an intricately designed pair of platinum cufflinks adorning Charles' cuffs and his Seiko watch that Erik is intimately familiar with by now.

"Good evening, beautiful."  He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Charles’ mouth. Whatever cologne Charles is using makes him smell absolutely delicious. “This has my sister’s fingerprints all over it,” Erik murmurs, noting how well their suits complemented one another.

Charles laughs brightly, tucking himself against Erik’s side as they make their way back to the limo. “Highly astute of you. She popped by earlier today, having the foresight to solve my tuxedo situation. Had I known we were doing something fancy, I would have hired one myself.  Where will you be taking me tonight?”

The door is held open by the driver and Erik slides into the back right behind Charles. “I have made a reservation at Tony’s Di Napoli. After dinner, I will then be escorting a Mr Xavier to the evening showing of _Phantom of the Opera_.”

One of Charles’ hand wriggles its way into Erik’s, their palms fit together well. His thumb absentmindedly brushes against the side of Charles' hand. “Thank you, Erik. I suppose it will be a fairly short drive, but do tell me how your day was, darling.”  Erik chuckles and gladly recounts his rather short day. He wisely does not mention how he had been worried that their date would not go according to plan.

The limousine rolls to a stop and then the partition rolls down. "We are here, sirs.  Please enjoy your dinner."

They attract a large number of stares when they gracefully climb out of the limousine, as if they were some sort of celebrities. Erik feels a number of camera phones being waved in their direction and he settles a hand on the small of Charles’ back to usher him inside the restaurant.

Their coats are carefully taken from them and hung up, after which they are shown to their candlelit table. Erik ensures Charles is comfortable seated first before settling himself opposite him.

Charles can’t stop thanking him and it amuses Erik, prompting him to say, “You ought to stop thanking me so often, Charles.  If I didn’t want to spoil you rotten, I wouldn’t have bothered at all.”

“Erik… I don’t know what to say,” Charles says as he slides a hand over the table and lands on Erik’s such that their fingers were loosely entwined.  “I don’t think I can even match this when we celebrate yours. How is it that we have only known each other for such a short time, and yet it feels like I have known you my entire life?”

Taking a minute to think about Charles’ words, Erik wonders how much he should divulge given how he has Irene's compiled dossier and discovered that **groovy_oxfordian** is the same as his old childhood friend and current boyfriend. “I can’t say I am an expert on this, but some people just click. I too feel like I have known you for a long time, Charles.”

Charles smiles, his eyes sparkling. “I sometimes can’t believe my luck.”  If Erik can be honest, he cannot believe his luck either.  Both for finding Charles again even though the Markos had taken over his father's company and the hand fate must have played for them to meet regardless.

“Just say, you’ll be here with me for many years to come; to celebrate the next birthday, the next anniversary, the next whatever Commercial Hallmark event happens," he says earnestly, "That’s all I ask of you.”

“I… Yes, of course, you silly man.” Charles gives a small laugh and Erik would have leapt over the table to kiss Charles had it not been for the waiter’s strategic entrance, interrupting them with a basket of breadsticks and asking if they were ready to order.

They start with an assortment of hot antipasto and then two of Tony's Specialties for their mains along with a bottle of merlot, leaving plenty of space for dessert afterwards.  Erik knows how much of a sweet tooth Charles has.  It is one of many things that he finds endearing about Charles.

"This is oddly reminiscent of our first date," Charles comments as Erik takes a sip of the wine in his glass.  He does not miss the way Charles' eyes are honed in on his throat as he swallows.  "Of course, a much more classier version of that. But still the important bits are the same. Having a candlelit Italian dinner with my handsome boyfriend across the table.  I don't think life can get much better than this.  Well, maybe if all my experiments ran themselves, leaving me with more time to do other things."

"What kind of things?" he asks, with feigned innocence.

Charles tilts his head, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth in a rather distracting manner.  Erik watches as Charles chews on it a little before his tongue slips out and wets his lip just as he is about to speak. "Well. There are a bunch of BBC shows I have to catch up on and then find a more permanent job after I graduate.  Maybe a teaching position or maybe-"

"Why don't you come work for me?  I am sure there is something I can find for you." Erik watches as a naughty grin blossoms over Charles' face.

"Really now. Wouldn't I be sleeping with my boss if that is the case?  You know what they say about mixing business with pleasure."

Erik replies with his best predatorial grin. "Don't knock it till you try it? I would be a very willing party in this."  Charles bursts into quiet laughter, just as their waiter approaches and sets down their appetizers.  The food is divine, delivered in tiny packages of deliciousness.

"I'll think about it."

Erik cuts each of his portions into smaller bite sized pieces and spears a creative piece made of bocconcini and cabanossi. "Try some of this," he says, offering the morsel to Charles who accepts it with great relish, who moans rather indecently that Erik has to hastily takes a gulp of his Merlot to hide his surprise. It would not do to have to start silently communing with his cock to stand down, especially in the middle of a romantic birthday dinner.

"I must insist you have some of this eggplant thing," says Charles, oblivious to Erik's dilemma and offers his food in return. Erik hums and within minutes, with all the back and forth hand feeding that happens, the appetizers are eaten only to be replaced by their pasta mains.

They share the linguine carbonara and penne marinara between them, a little on the salty side as Italian sometimes tends to be, but nevertheless good food.  Erik leans back into his seat after finishing his plate just to watch Charles eat.  Everything about him is simply perfection, from the way his eyes shine so brightly down to the curl of his fingers around his cutlery all the way to his _cutting technique_.  Erik cannot find any fault with Charles.

Charles looks up when he eats the last few bites of penne, a fine blush on his cheeks. "Oh Erik.  Such complimentary things you think of."

All of them completely true, Erik thinks with a smile when the waiter comes with the dessert menu and goes with their plates, returning later with his order pad, a pencil and a look of expectation. With great gusto, Charles peruses the short menu, prompting Erik to do the same.

"I'll have the tiramisu and a coffee, please," Charles says a minute later, handing the menu back to the waiter with thanks.  The man nods, complimenting Charles for his excellent choice, and then turns to look at Erik with his pencil poised.

"The panna cotta and a coffee for me."  The waiter nods and walks away with their orders.  Erik hopes they will not have to wait too long given that time is slowly ticking down and getting closer to the start of the show

"Which theatre are we going to?" asks Charles.  "I am looking ever so forward to watching the stage production.  It will be so different from the movie.  Everyone tends to enjoy the stage production better."

"I would imagine so given how it is the most successful financially of all musicals and how long it has run for," he replies.

Charles shakes his head and chuckles, reaching over the table to take Erik's hand in his own. "Not exactly the reason why _I_ am going to enjoy it more than the rest.  But because this will be the best birthday I have ever had and I get to spend it with you.  Thank you Erik." 

The waiter returns, setting down their desserts and coffees, but it hardly matters to Erik who knows he is smiling like the besotted fool that he is, because being here with Charles is sweeter than both the tiramisu and panna cotta combined.


	5. Chapter 5

The Majestic Theatre in New York is the most famous theatre on Broadway, having seen many major musical productions in its day. With over 1600 seats, it is also one of the largest.

Charles has not been to see a play ever since he was a little boy and his father took him to see _The Lion King_. Looking around at the people waiting in the foyer, Charles can see why Raven had ambushed him earlier today to make sure he had something for the occasion.

There is a general buzz about the place. He can read the anticipation of those seeing the production for the first time and the expectation of those that have already seen _The Phantom of the Opera_ before.  It is heady and feeds into the excited energy that Charles has been carrying around all day.

The people around them begin to notice the lengths at which Erik has gone to make himself appear like the Erik of the story.  Every time someone had come up and ask Erik about his costume, Charles had to hide his manic smile as his boyfriend gruffly thanks them before declining autographs seeing as how he was not the actor for the evening (much to the disappointment of Erik's growing crowd of admirers).  He discreetly takes Erik's hand and gives it a fond squeeze of support.

"You could help me out you know," comments Erik with a small pout when the enthusiastic elderly lady moves away.

He can only chuckle in reply as he lifts himself up a little to close the distance between their lips for a brief kiss.  "I _could_. But I _won't_.  I am sure you can fend for yourself whilst I go over there to purchase a program and drinks?"  Erik huffs, seemingly appeased for the moment with the kiss and waves him off.

The staff call for their attention as soon as Charles returns to Erik's side with two white wines and his program, thanking them for waiting so patiently and announcing that seating will begin shortly.  The crowd slowly moves, the chatting slowly subsiding into a dull murmur as people begin to move inside the theatre.

Erik tugs at Charles' elbow and takes him up to the mezzanine level, where the helpful lady on hand shows them to their private box. Charles gasps as soon as he sees the view, setting down their wine glasses, and leans over the bannister to look at the people filing in below and at the orchestra who have begun tuning their instruments.  It is the best seats in the house.

"I hope you like?" Erik asks, sounding oddly sheepish. Charles turns around to watch as Erik unclasps his cape and hangs it up along with his black overcoat.  "I might have ordered a hit or two in order to get these tickets...I'm just kidding."

Charles blinks and stares. "I can't believe you would go to such an extent for me. Of course I like it.  I _love_ it.  Just no assassinations required next time.  I would have been perfectly happy to be sitting down there and-"

Erik interrupts with, making a rather undignified snort that is oddly uncharacteristic of him. "No boyfriend of mine is going to watch _The Phantom of the Opera_ from down there.  Especially not when I have a say in it.  I told you before Charles, I want you to have nice things and this way I get to grope you privately throughout the musical." He says that last part with a lecherous grin, one that Charles matches with one of his own as he stalks closer to sit in the seat next to Erik's.

"Darling, you needn't buy me a fancy dinner or musical tickets to be entitled to that," he purrs and leans over the armrests for more than just a fleeting kiss, which Erik seems to have no problem with as he gamely curls fingers around the back of Charles' neck to prevent him from moving away. He can taste the sauvignon blanc on Erik's tongue. With the judicious application of his telepathy, he makes sure everyone is oddly captivated by everything but the free show they could have gotten.

They break apart when the lights begin to dim, settling back into their respective seats with lips shinier and more swollen than usual. The crowd quiets as the first note fills the theatre, reverberating around the theatre with solid purpose as the red curtains slowly part.

Charles finds the musical is as the reviews and hype say it is, living up to all of his expectations about it being far more invigorating and captivating performance.  The staging had been exquisite, with scenes that flow seamlessly together.  The opening as the chandelier is lowered at the end of Act One had been particularly thrilling, having overheard the delighted mental gasps from those sitting nearer to the stage. There is nothing that can even compare when faced with a cast with such expressive vocals and convincing acting.  He can still feel goosebumps on his skin from Act Two's finale and Charles is almost certain that he had not let go of Erik's hand throughout, only mildly apologetic for leaving red marks behind when his favourite song is sung and, in turn, having his own hand squeezed.  The movie absolutely does not do a production of this magnitude any justice.

He is as enthusiastic as the rest of the audience as they applause when the Phantom's final sung lines ricochet off the walls, sliding to his feet minutes later to join the standing ovation as the cast take their bows on stage.

"Worth every drop of blood that had been shed for those tickets," Charles hears Erik say into his ear over the sound of whistling and clapping.  "Absolutely exquisite."  He can only beam in return, having been rendered speechless.

Erik gives him a roguish smirk, probably amused at his lack of a words. "I take it you enjoyed it then."

They take their time making their way out of the theatre, amongst the flow of the crowd.  Charles can feel Erik pressed in close against his back as the crowd file through the open doors and back out into the cold air of the night.  They meander a little bit away from the theatre hand-in-hand with no clear destination in mind.

"It was unbelievable and so much better.  Thank you so much for taking me to see it Erik."  Even though he has thanked Erik so many times that night, Charles means it on each and every time occasion.  "I don't think I ever want this night to end."

"This is something that you and I both agree on."

In companionable silence, they find their feet lead them to Central Park.  Rows of concrete buildings give way to the natural world and embracing them with the scent of grass and trees.  In the late evening, the place is deserted and, to Charles, it feels like they own the stretch of land as far as the eye can see; as if only he and Erik exist on the entire planet.  He can imagine how beautiful Central Park will be when they receive their first snow storm and everything is blanketed in white.

A light wind picks up, causing the branches in the trees to sway gently and the shadows cast upon the grass by the black lamp posts to dance and play.  Charles stop to watch, oddly mesmerised by the sight.

He is only broken out of his reverie when Erik calls out his name, turning around and looks, really looks, at his boyfriend.  The white mask on his face hides half of Erik's expression from view. And although Charles does not mind, and has largely gotten used to Erik always wearing some sort of eyewear, there is a part of him that desperately wants to know the story behind the reason; wants to know why and how and when.

"Charles?"

Clearing his throat and wetting his lips, Charles clasps his hands in front of him and takes a breath to calm the swooping feeling in his stomach. “I won’t ask why you keep your face hidden because I am certain you have your reasons. I won’t go looking for the answer either with my telepathy, just so you know. But I do hope that one day, when you are ready, you will tell me the reason.”

“Charles…”  Erik sounds terribly conflicted, as if on the cusp of blurting it out but there are shackles holding him back.

Charles shakes his head, interrupting, “No please, Erik. I wanted to be honest with you, let you know that I wholeheartedly respect your privacy on the matter and that I would _never_ consciously go snooping where I am not wanted.  I, that is-." He takes a pause and a breathe, to give himself a scant few seconds to reorganise his thoughts. "My luck with relationships in the past has been quite terrible. That all changed when I met you, and it is a little maddening and frightening to think how quickly I have...  I like you, Erik.  Very much so, in a way that I can only explain as... all-consuming and it is something I have never felt for anyone before."

Erik closes his eyes and exhales loudly through his nose, his only visible eyebrow furrowing downwards as wrinkles run deep across his forehead. There is a sudden burst of vibrancy and colour from Erik, his boyfriend deep in thought, that Charles can intimately feel behind his carefully constructed shields but forbids himself to touch. 

He waits patiently as Erik collects his thoughts, focusing away from the swirl of mental activity to something else that is pulls him away from temptation. Erik's hands are never stationary, large palms that tapers off into long fingers with work hardened callouses that are capable of so much ingenuity and intrigue. Charles knows them nearly as well as his own, having explored them very thoroughly in his spare time.  They twist around Charles', thumbs brushing against all the skin it can reach, fingertips delicately tracing from knuckle to knuckle to tip and back again and short nails scratching against the lines on his palms. Definitely distraction at its finest.

So distracted he is by Erik's talented fingers that Charles does not realise how close Erik is standing until their foreheads are pressed together and there are warm arms wrapped around his waist to pull his body closer in still. They stand there, by the edge of the grass and underneath the soft glow of a black lamp post, sharing the warmth that is kept in by Erik's cape. "I don't think 'like' quite covers the extent of what I feel for you. I suspect 'like' is a milestone I passed some time ago, Charles." Charles flicks his eyes upwards, entirely surprised by Erik's words. His heart does a funny kind of flutter when he breathes out Erik's name almost reverently.

Erik continues, "And you are right. For reasons that I cannot disclose... because of reasons... I know there will come a time, a day where you will know why, but now is not it.  Thank you for your honesty on the matter." Erik pauses there for a minute as their breaths mingle in small visible puffs. Charles brings his fingers up, tracing the edges of that white mask with gentle touches.

Minutes trickle past and still, Erik does not speak. Charles runs his tongue nervously over his lips, thinking of an appropriate way to vocalise a prompt. "And what do you want right now, Erik?" His own voice is low, afraid that if he spoke any louder than a whisper the spirit of the moment would shatter into a million irreparable pieces.

Erik blinks and so close they stand that Charles can almost feel those eyelashes against his cheek. "I find that I want to kiss you right now, Charles."

Charles lets out a breath he had not realised he had been holding in, a smile growing slowly on his lips.  "And what are you waiting for, a written invitation?  I'm a poor university student.  I can't afford postage."

There is a quiet huff of laughter and then Erik ducks his head, sealing the little bit of shared space between their lips. It starts of chaste, just mere lip on lip contact and hardly anything to write home about. That is until Charles tilts his head away from Erik’s mask and leans in.

Time flows to a standstill and in a matter of seconds that do not exist, the nature of kiss changes completely.  It fluctuates between languid and thorough before spiking into possessive territory. Charles moans softly as Erik sucks at his bottom lip, feeling the light scrape of teeth as Erik tugs gently before letting it go. He lets out an appreciative noise when Erik's hands slide down from waist to hips to the small of his back near his back dimples.

_"You're telling me butt dimples are genetic," Erik says with a raised eyebrow as they have afternoon tea together. Charles sets the scone he had been busy buttering up and picks up his tea._

_"Yes, dimples of Venus," explains Charles patiently, taking a sip of Earl Grey as he raises an eyebrow at the fact that Erik calls them butt dimples. "Great for locating the sacroiliac joint and caused by the ligaments that stretch between skin and spine.  It is a common genetic trait and really a birth defect. But basically if you inherit good dimple creating genes, then you'll get dimples."_

_Setting his cup down with a tiny clink, Erik then asks almost nonchalantly, "Do you have butt dimples, Charles?"_

_He smirks and gives a cheeky little wink, before replying, "You're just going to have to figure that one out yourself." In hindsight, Erik will probably take that as a challenge, but it is not as if Charles will mind at all, being the ever willing participant here._

Their tongues curl around one another, already intimate and fluent in this particular dance. Charles finally pulls back, caving a little when Erik chases after him, aiming pecks at the corner of his mouth. Erik's lips are shiny from spit and looking bruised; Charles knows his are definitely in a similar state. "Erik...Come home with me tonight.  Stay with me..." His words are briefly silenced when Erik's mouth seals over his own.

"Yes," Erik pants into his mouth.  "Anything you want." 

Charles cannot pull Erik towards the nearest cab fast enough where he has difficulties keeping his hands to himself.  He settles for interlacing their fingers together in an attempt to stop any sort of mutual groping in the back seat. His pants give everything away as Charles struggles to control his arousal, only glad to see Erik is in a very similar state.

He thrusts a handful of notes from his wallet into the cabbie's face when the cab rolls to a stop, dragging Erik out of the vehicle and up the stairs into the empty apartment lobby after punching in his entry code.

“Get in…” Charles says impatiently as he pulls Erik into the open lift.  Erik barrels into his back, chuckling to himself when Charles misses the button for his floor. “Erik!”

The metal button depresses itself just as Erik presses a line of kisses up the side of his neck and whispers into his ear with all sorts of filthy promise, “You’ll definitely be saying that later.”  Charles whimpers just thinking about it.  They stumble out of the elevator and towards Charles' door.

He groans softly when Erik pins him to the door with his body. “Erik… Erik, stop that. I need to find my keys…” It is easier said than done, especially with Erik’s wandering hands that are busy untucking his shirt and those sinful lips clamped down on his jugular vein, sucking a hickey into Charles' skin.

Erik sounds completely unapologetic when he lifts his head up long enough to say sorry. « Let me help you with your door issue. » The sound of the lock sliding open is possibly the best thing Charles has heard all day - musical aside - and he wastes no time flicking on the lights to his apartment, knowing Erik will follow him inside, the dull thunk of the door closing shut behind them.

“I forget how handy it is to be dating a guy who has a way with magnetic fields,” he comments as he tugs at his shoelaces and shrugs out of his coat to hang it up.

As soon as Charles has sufficiently peeled away his layers to reveal a crisp white shirt and his dress pants, warm arms close in around him. It is a wonderful feeling, being held by Erik, like he is protected by a particularly warm but welcome limpet.

"Charles,... If we are going to do this, and I have a feeling that we will be taking this all the way, I need you to agree to one thing." Erik's voice sounds distant despite just how close he is physically.  He tries to turn around but is held fast.

"This has to do with your... thing right?" Charles' mind is quickly doing a permutation of all the possible solutions to this particular pickle.

"Yes.  You can't see my face when we do it.  I'm-"

He cuts Erik off with a shake of his head.  "If you're going to apologise, then don't.  I entirely understand and, sort of, thought of a work around.  Now let me go get it and you get out of your clothes."  Erik's grip slackens just enough for Charles to wriggle free and heads to the pile of ties and dry cleaning bags Raven refused to take back with her. It had been her birthday present to him, apparently, and he had been informed it would be far too rude to make her take it all back.

At the top of the pile lies the azure silk tie he had set aside earlier and Charles only feels mildly apologetic for not using it for its intended purpose.

"You did?" asks Erik as he slips out of his overcoats and cape, hanging them up besides Charles' jacket and then moves to stand next to Charles.

Charles drops it into Erik's hand and smiles. "Of course I did.  I always have contingency plans.  And even then my contingency plans have contingency plans.  So, here.  You'll blindfold me. Just in case your mask falls off, or you prefer to take it off. You already know where I keep the lube. The new box of magnums are next to it." Charles blushes in memory when the checkout chick at the pharmacy had given him a once over and a saucy wink to boot.  If she only _knew_.

"Fuck, Charles," Erik swears as he closes his eyes momentarily. He swallows, making his Adam's apple bob in a rather enticing manner. The visual fuels his aching need to always have his hands on some part of Erik's body.

Stepping in and smoothing his hands down Erik's oxford shirt, Charles licks his lips and murmurs, "That's kinda the point, darling."

"Are you sure about this?"  The makeshift blindfold in question is raised in the palm of Erik's hand.  Charles nods and slips his hand over Erik's, effectively sandwiching the tie between their palms.

"I trust you with my everything, Erik.  Now take me to bed and then put it on me. Scientifically speaking, I am not eager to find out the duration required to develop an epic case of blue balls, but I'm sure I'm well on my way."

Laughing softly, Erik leans in to press a chaste kiss against Charles' lips. "Now, we definitely can't have that. Not when I had such wonderful plans for them."

* * *

 Shirts are usually the first casualties of love making as buttons are slipped through buttonholes and cloth parted to reveal tantalizing creamy flesh.  Erik is glad to have the opportunity to lick and map all of that skin with his tongue and teeth at his leisure. For now, straddled as he is over Charles' thighs and bearing his weight on his knees, Erik runs his hands over Charles' lithe and muscular upper body, reacquainting himself with the places that makes Charles squirm in a delightful manner.

Erik lets out a great shuddering breath, knowing full well the blood rushing through his veins cannot be calmed not unlike that of a matador and a raging bull.  The duvet ends up half on the floor and half off it as Charles lazily kicks it over to one side and reclines on his bed sheets. There is a long tantalizing strip of pale skin on display that begs to be marked further when Charles tilts his head back and bares his throat at him.  The mark he made earlier that evening is still there and Erik hums with fierce approval. Before the night is through (or early morning as the case may be) it will not be the only thing marring Charles' perfect neck.

Yes.  He will enjoy licking every bit of skin, both inside and out as far as his tongue and fingers can go.  And then, Erik thinks as he leers at the way Charles' mouth has fallen partially open, he will feed his cock to that sinfully red mouth and maybe do the same before he makes slow, careful love to Charles for as long as he is able to.  Or plans he will have to shelve for quite some time until he can see the way Charles would look up at him, eyes sparkling blue and his lip stretched around his cock. Erik must have been broadcasting his intent when Charles gives a full body quiver, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. Erik wonders if Charles perhaps has an oral fixation with how often Charles licks his lips or bites down on it.

"Like that idea do you? You are exquisite, Charles," Erik breathes as he flicks and plays with Charles' nipples, rubbing at them intently as they harden underneath his ministrations.  "I'm going to strip you naked first, then blindfold you before I do exactly that and more."  The words seem to have their intended effect as Charles' eyes darken with lust, pupils dilating and cheeks flush.  Erik leaves the tie on the bed within easy reach.

Charles nods, making a mewl of agreement as he reaches down to unbutton his pants, the metal zipper (how thoughtful of Raven) already undone.  Erik's breath catches when Charles lifts his hips and pushes off his briefs and pants down in one go, his erection springing free from its confines.

It is a sight Erik will never get tired of: the way Charles' breath causes his chest to heave, his cock to twitch and his fingers to flex and bury into his bed sheets. He looks his fill as his fingers trail down to play with the fine hairs that lead from belly button down to the thick bush at the base of Charles' cock.

"Blindfold me after you've taken your clothes off. Hardly fair that you will be seeing me all night and I don't at least get some sort of visual to add to my wank bank," Charles says, surging upwards to sit up and tug at Erik's buttons.  "I have half a mind to just rip these clothes off you."

"All is fair in love and war," quotes Erik and together they make quick work of the rest of Erik's clothes, making a satisfactory thump on the floor next to Charles' own discarded clothes.  This would be the first time either have been completely naked in the presence of the other and makes the handful of traded blow jobs and hand jobs pale in comparison.

Charles sighs, his fingers making a slightly ticklish line down Erik's obliques and abdominal muscles to grip at Erik's erection, the contact making Erik groan softly. "It is a shame I won't be seeing more of this later."

Erik chuckles and retrieves the tie, pausing briefly when Charles squeezes. "It won't be the last time you'll see me naked, not if I have my way anyway. Alternatively, you could conveniently declare your apartment as part of a new nudist colony and all those that step into this territory have to obey the nudist colony rules and regulations," he suggests. Silently, Erik lifts the tie up to eye level and smooths out the length of it between his hands.

With a look of consideration on his face at the tie, Charles says, “I jolly well could. How thoughtful. Thank you for that wonderful suggestion. Now go ahead, love. Blindfolds don't put themselves on people." He even goes as far as to tilt his head upwards and closing his eyes. Being presented in such a way, Erik leans forward and kisses Charles soundly. How could he refuse such an open invitation?

"Cheeky bugger," Erik says fondly, reaching forward to wrap the silk slowly around Charles' eyes - not too tight and not too loose - before tying it securely behind Charles' head. Leaning forward, Erik places a soft kiss in the approximate location of where Charles' eyelids are and asks, "Is this alright?"

"Perfectly so. I do believe I was promised a tongue bath-" Charles' voice hitches and Erik resumes his work of exploring using teeth, tongue and lips, listening intently at all the little mewls and hitches Charles makes as he gets steadily further.

He takes off the mask, wincing a little as the double sided tape he used earlier pinches his skin upon removal. If this is what it is like to just wear it once, Erik can entirely empathize with the actors that play the Phantom on a daily basis. But it does feel great to be out of the mask in Charles' presence, even if his love lies blindfolded underneath him.

"Erik, please... I need..."

Erik growls, smoothing his hands down Charles' sides. "Tell me Charles.  Tell me what you need and I will give it to you."

Charles lifts his hands up, wrapping them around Erik's throat in a loose chokehold. They squeeze gently, apply soft pressure that makes Erik swallow reflexively. "I want everything you said. I want your mouth and hands on my skin, your fingers and cock opening me up and your breath in my lungs. Gods I want you so badly. Please don't make me wait."

He surges forward, ignoring the increased pressure around his throat to kiss and plunder Charles' mouth, his fingers twisting Charles' nipples. Kissing Charles is like taking the first breath of fresh air after being under water. It can be ever so sweet like honey, for moments between commercials when they lazily make out on the couch, and also desperate and fierce, when they have to part and it was unknown when they will see each other next.  Erik can kiss Charles all day.

They part slowly, a thin strand of saliva bridging the distance between their lower lips. Not that Charles could see just how red and wrecked his kiss swollen lips and just how arousing the sight is to Erik. His cock positively jumps as if Charles has a direct line to it, which he sort of does.

"If only you could see yourself now, lips shiny with our saliva and red, so red. Obscenely so. I am going to open you up with my tongue now, until you are begging for it."

Charles swallows thrashing his head from side to side. "Don't promise things you can't finish."

Erik shuffles backwards, settling himself between Charles open thighs. "Darling, I have every intention of finishing what I start." He heaves Charles' legs over his shoulders, causing him to squeak in an undignified manner.

« Tell me if I'm doing something wrong, won't you? » Erik sends mentally, the way Charles taught him to, and then he presses his tongue forward and gently laps at Charles' puckered opening. The sphincter muscles there tense and flutter. Charles lets out a low whine, unable to stop undulating his hips until Erik holds him still. He pokes and prods there, not entirely sure if he is doing it right, but gauging from the sounds of frustration Erik thinks he is doing a decent enough job for someone who has never done this to anyone. 

"Erik, _please._ I don't think I can take much more of this," pleads Charles. Erik wonders what Charles' eyes would look like, had he not been blindfolded out of necessity. - "I need you inside me. And I swear if you don't give me what I want on my birthday, I will _mind bend_ you so hard that... That- I will come up with a suitable threat here. I swear I will do it if you don't fuck me. Right. _Now_."

Not eager to find out what kind of destruction his boyfriend can get up to, Erik sets Charles' legs back down and gropes through Charles' bedside table, fingers snagging against the plastic of lubricant and the box of magnum condoms.  "I wish I could have been there to see the reaction at the counter when you bought this box, love.  I can only _imagine_ what they could have been thinking." The wrapping around the box is carelessly flung onto the floor to be cleaned up later, much later after both of them have been fucked into oblivion and blissed out. He fishes out a string and tears one off, setting the rest onto the bedside table.

There are hands reaching out blindly, sweeping over Erik's torso before lowering to make large sweeping arcs over the wrinkled bed spread until they hit the bottle.  Erik watches with morbid fascination as Charles uncaps the lid and pours some into his palm. Some of the slick oozes slowly down Charles' wrist and down his forearm before being transferred between open thighs. And then Erik's brain short-circuits as he watches Charles finger himself open, one digit at a time, in and out, slow then faster until Charles is gasping loudly. It is possible that Erik's mouth is both salivating and going dry simultaneously and he leans down to plunder Charles' open mouth.  To keep him grounded and focussed on the task at hand.

He slips the condom on, hissing as the latex sheaths over-sensitive skin and pulls back away just to look and gulp down a lungful of air to clear his head because Erik is willing to do many things, but hurt Charles is not one of them. "Are you ready for this?"

Three fingers glide out, translucent and shiny as Charles' hole contracts around nothing. Charles shifts into a more comfortable position and smirks. "Let's find out if all my fantasies can live up to the real thing. I want to feel you inside me. I've wanted you for so long. _Please_ Erik."

Erik growls, mind looping back to Charles words. "I'll show _you_ the real thing is better than some fantasy." There is no heat in his words because Erik is in a rather similar boat and Charles probably knows all about it, being a telepath and all.

Despite rutting on a number of occasions, and just how hard their dicks both are, Erik starts out slow and careful. He thrusts between Charles' cheeks spontaneously, driving them both mad with the sensations, before lining himself up and sliding inside Charles, feeling a most exquisite sense of warmth and pressure around his cock.  It is this moment that everything appears to spontaneously combust around him and exactly when Charles swears that would make any sailor blush red. Erik finds himself grinning that his cheeks hurt.

"Jesus, Mary and _fucking_ Joseph.  Move, damn you!"  Taking that as a very vocal okay to move that final inch, Erik bottoms out and holds himself flush against Charles' body.  It is absolutely divine. Attaining perfection on all levels as far as Erik is concerned.

Everything must be suddenly fuelled by electricity, or at the very least _Charles_ , as bolts of pleasure flashes in all directions. Erik keeps his movements unhurried, taking his time to feel the drag of skin against latex as he pulls out and then presses inside again in what must be defined as sweet, sweet torture in a dictionary somewhere. He twines his hand around Charles' leaking erection and begins to stroke him off in time with his thrusts, using his thumb and wrist in the way Charles likes.

“For someone who hasn’t ever dated anyone,” Charles pants, shivering delightfully when Erik lifts Charles' clean hand up to mouth at the wrist, “You sure seem to know what you’re doing.”

Erik lets out a rather undignified snort as he nips at the fleshy part near Charles' thumb. “I may not have dated anyone ever but I am not oblivious or particularly old-fashioned.  The internet you will find is a very... _inspiring_ place. If you have so much time to think about my dating history, I guess I need to practise further and get better at this job.”  A startled sound is ripped from his throat when Charles' tenses the muscles in his ass in retaliation.

Slowly, Erik's hips begin to undulate in lazy circles, setting a slow pace for now giving him ample time to lay claim to Charles' mouth.  He kisses Charles possessively and almost urgently, as if it were possible to lick away all the people Charles has been with. Regretting that Charles had not been his first, but not being able to fault the man for his childhood unrequited love. As it stands, they are consummating it now.

Fortunately, Charles seems too blissed out of his mind to have caught that particular thought as Erik's hips begin to snap forward with more authority, rendering all capabilities to think very hard indeed. They are more fucking now than love making, a deed Erik had set as a goal earlier that evening that is proving harder and harder to fulfil when all these emotions and sensations are sending his hips to move on their own accord.

Through it all, Erik does not stop kissing Charles, determined as he is to find out what sort of noises Charles is capable of making.  Somewhere in the universe, for it is vast and broad and not all accounted for, stars are being born in a manner very similar to _this_ , into ecstasy and desire and everything Erik has ever wanted.

At some point, Erik recognises distantly that Charles is getting close. Every part of him begins to tense up in response, impending orgasm dancing tauntingly out of their reach.  Unable to keep the position long, Erik regretfully pulls away from Charles' lips and uses his free hand to grip at Charles' hip. He is pleased to find that Charles' vocabulary has been reduced to his name and hums. And although Erik has seen Charles orgasm a handful of times, it never fails to be captivating.  Everything about Charles is always that way to him.

And then, almost abruptly, there is a strangled cry of his name, the vowels in it stretched out to fill the warm air around Charles' bed as Charles falls apart at the seams and paints his stomach in ropes of sticky white.  Erik follows Charles' cue soon after, thrusting only twice more before he dirties the inside of the condom with his seed as his system is overdosed by endorphins.

There are fingers combing through his hair when Erik floats back to himself, coming down from his high almost reluctantly.  He realises he must have collapsed on top of Charles straight after, not that his lover seems to mind all that much and he mumbles an apology as he pushes himself back upright.

"Don't be.  Gods above, that was incredible."  There is a wonderful sheen of sweat that covers Charles' body and Erik is almost desperate enough to give Charles another tongue bath had his muscles stopped working for his brain.  Charles carries on, apparently not having heard Erik's thoughts to say, "We're doing nothing but fuck until your birthday."

Erik almost cringes at the idea as he pulls out of Charles and rolls the condom off before tying it securely. "That's quite some time away. You might need to convince me about this particular plan."

He can almost hear Charles rolling his eyes from behind azure silk.  "Do I believe my ears?  You're actually saying no to more of this?  Definitely my best so far."

"I bet that is what you say to all the pretty boys, _Schatz._ "  Erik wipes his hands on the only parts of his stomach and kisses Charles once more before leaning over to replace the mask on his face and tug the tie gently free of the knot.  "But I'm sure you can be very convincing when you need to be."

Charles harrumphs and then moves to sit up so their faces are close. "How about I start in the shower?" There are a series of images that bombard Erik's mind, all of them of a wet and aroused Charles. It causes his body to shiver, not just from the cold when Charles vacates the bed to pad to the bathroom and turn the water on, and Erik marvels at his fast refractory time when he too gets out of bed to follow sashaying hips.

* * *

Later, after another round of fantastic and mind-blowing sex as expected, they lie out on the bed with Erik spooned up behind him and nose buried in his nape.  Every exhalation causes the little hairs there to move.  It is oddly ticklish.

He is dozing when, almost out of the blue, Erik says, "You've mentioned you volunteer on Sundays. Let me come with you.  I should think those stray toys you've picked up can be fixed faster with two."

Charles sighs softly, his heart swelling with affection to sizes that is impossible for his body to contain. “How are you so wonderful, Erik?  I couldn't possibly ask you to come with me.”

“You didn’t," Erik says with a smirk that is evident in his voice, "I volunteered.”  Charles squirms until he is facing Erik and kisses him with everything he feels for this ridiculous and endearing man. This, Erik thinks and Charles overhears, is something I can definitely get used to, and then Erik gives as good as he gets.


	6. Chapter 6

He has never slept as deeply as he has until now. Everything is warm and everything feels right, like pieces of Charles' life have finally slotted into place. He stirs when a large hand rubs at his bared shoulder, warming the chilled skin where the blanket did not cover. Murmuring softly, Charles rolls over and curls around the person sitting on the side of his bed, purring a little when the hand moves from his shoulder to thread through his hair.

“Good morning, Charles.” Yes.  Yes it is, Charles thinks with a silly smile on his face as he makes an agreeing sort of noise.  He presses his nose against Erik’s pants and then stops for a moment when he feels the fabric. Pants?  There should be no pants, especially not on Erik at this hour. He cracks an eye open and angles his head to peer up at Erik. An Erik who is already dressed from head to toe.  The mask from the evening before is surprisingly replaced by a scarf, a fashion accessory Charles had not even seen before.

“Why are you already dressed?  My morning plans with you does not include pants,” he complains.

Charles had intended on spending the entire day in bed with Erik, skin against skin and savouring each and everything with his naked boyfriend.  There may have been plans for food after they break from having bed breaking sex. Only a spanner had been thrown into the works when said boyfriend ruined it by being not very naked. Charles scowls as he tugs at the hem of Erik’s flannel shirt.  Of course, clothes can be removed and this is definitely an activity he is more than happy to help with.

Erik laughs, taking his wrist captive with one of his hands. “It’s nearly nine. I slipped out earlier while you were sleeping to go home and pick up some things before coming back.”

“Things?” Charles frowns, a small petulant pout forming on his lips before he can stop it. He wonders how he had managed to sleep through Erik’s mind moving away from his own. Then again, two orgasms may have done the trick and he may have been a little shagged out from such an incredible night.  "Does things also include breakfast?"

“Yes. I picked up some ingredients on the way. Now close your eyes, Charles, if you want your morning kiss,” Erik commands softly.  There is the sound of a fabric being moved and Charles feels the bed dip as Erik’s body weight shifts on the mattress.  He wets his lips in anticipation and immediately closes his eyes.

Erik does not disappoint and Charles purrs in satisfaction when he feels warm lips press against his own. He chases after the feel of those lips when Erik pulls back, whining a little when he gets denied by Erik’s fingers on his lips. Erik’s voice is muffled a little by the scarf when he says, “More later. Go get changed and I’ll cook you breakfast.”

Charles opens his eyes and pouts a little when he moves to climb into Erik’s lap. “Erik… I was hoping for morning ravishment.”

“You’re insatiable and almost insufferable,” Erik comments, amusement painting his words.  He shrugs, not at all unfamiliar with either terms and wriggles suggestively, hoping that Erik will see things his way.

“You can say I got addicted. Is that a no because your body is far more honest than your mouth, darling.”

Erik groans then shakes his head once more, promising, “Later. Otherwise we’ll never make it to your volunteering job.  You will just have to make do with kisses.”

Charles sighs in disappointment and then slides off Erik's lap. He had sorely underestimated Erik's will. "Very well. I accept your compromise."  He watches as his boyfriend takes the opening and disappears into the kitchen as he gathers a change of clothes from his dresser.  It is probably a smart move. He makes quick work of using the bathroom; taking the shortest shower known to man and brushing his teeth as he washes his hair at the same time.

By the time he wanders into his kitchen all clothed, Erik has two plateful of pancakes made in the shape of animals.  One of them looks to be some sort of aquatic creature that resembles an amoeba - a shark, Erik had explained with a sheepish grin - and what looks like a Mickey Mouse pancake.  Charles chuckles and kisses Erik in thanks over the kitchen counter before tucking in.

* * *

Erik watches as Charles settles into a corner after helping serve a late brunch at the soup kitchen. Taking a cue from Charles, Erik had joined in the production line next to his boyfriend and helped spoon potato mash onto plates.  There are so many people there and Erik hides his surprise at the turnout as he offers what little comfort he could with his smile. There are men, women, children, different races and situations but with the same world weary look and suspicion in their eyes as they eye him up.  It all changes when they get to Charles though, who has a perpetual comforting smile on his face as he bids them to have a good meal and a better day and if there was anything they ever needed a sympathetic ear for, they should never hesitate to find Charles.

There had been several small children that had broken through the line to inquire about their beloved toys and Charles explained with a bright smile that they - and boy did Erik love being part of a ‘they’ - were going to be fixed by the end of this afternoon.  They nodded, taking Charles' words for gospel, and scattered into the four winds before the adults in line could grumble and grouse.  Although Erik had a sinking suspicion that Charles may have had a hand in calming them down.

After being dismissed by the kitchen staff for the time being, they commandeered a table in the sun. Charles laid out his tools and Erik found himself being watched as he too spread out materials and tools from his tool box filled with everything he could possibly need to help Charles out and by association, the young children also.

There had been such anticipation built up as word travelled by mouth that a small audience gathered around and got comfortable on vacant chairs nearby. More than one or two of them were adults.  Charles carefully set a duffel he had filled with everything he had picked up between them and Erik picked the nearest one to the surface up.  It is a dusty grey bunny, obviously very well-loved, but looks like having lost the fight to a particularly feisty yappy dog.

“Can we trust Mr. Erik with my bunny?” a little girl pipes up, looking up at Erik from where she sat with an extremely concerned look on her face. Erik keeps his face casually blank as his mind freezes.  This is why he does not deal well with children and Raven does his public relations for him.

Charles though, does not skip a beat, smiling in a comforting manner at her. “Absolutely, sweetheart. Mr. Erik is wonderful with his hands and very clever with his fingers,” Charles pauses to wink lasciviously at him and Erik has to stop stitching lest he bled all over the toy with a misplaced stitch, “We’ll have Flora fixed up in no time, Sarah. Don't you fret, petal.”

Erik ducks his head down, willing the blood to flow anywhere but his face and groin. He uses efficient and decisive stitches, making sure Flora’s face is perfect before handing the bunny back to its original owner. It is a wonder what new eyes and a velvet nose can do to give the toy some life. “Wow!  She looks exactly the same. Thank you so much, Mr. Erik. Mummy look! Flora’s all better again!” He watches as Sarah's mother musters up enough energy to smile and compliment on how well the bunny looks now.

Erik knows that toys brought immeasurable joy to children. It is a fact of life that things that keep children happy also, generally, keeps parents happy. Seeing those well-loved possessions fall into disrepair is inevitable. But helping fix such important items to those that cannot afford to buy replacements is a whole different level of satisfaction and pleasure in and of itself.

He looks over at Charles, unsurprised to see that Charles is already engaged in conversation with one of the older boys about the merits of both Ferraris and Lamborghinis as deft fingers paint careful details onto an old tin toy which is practically humming in Charles' hand.  It is a sight that Erik can get used to.  He picks up the next patient, letting his hands go onto auto-pilot and allows his mind to wander for a little while. 

Yes, Charles would be a very welcome addition to his workshop, which Erik realises with a pang that he had yet to show Charles. And if perhaps, one day, Erik can tempt Charles away from the genetics work he is currently working on to spend endless hours in the workshop together coming up with new designs.  Well. Erik knows he would be over the moon.

Given how enthusiastic Charles had been in the forum about the repair of toys and collectibles and his father's company, albeit when Charles had been much younger than he is now, Erik has to wonder how genetics will fare in the end.  Whether Charles will continue to pursue this particular avenue because understanding genetic mutations is just as much a part of Charles' identity now as Erik is the world's leading inventor in bits and baubles that lead to hours of amusement.

Whatever the case may be, Erik is more than satisfied to have Charles by his side in whatever capacity Erik can get him.

He quickly loses himself into the rhythm of working with a variety of metal and fabrics and the sound of Charles' voice speaking about everything and anything.

A hand slides between his shoulder blades and a steaming mug of coffee is set by his soldering gun. "Time for a break, darling. That'll keep for a few minutes." Erik looks up at Charles' smiling face and nods gratefully, setting down the delicate wooden car he had been fixing.

They steal a few minutes for themselves outside, Erik leaning against the bannisters with his mug in hand as Charles presses against him with his tea.

"I never realised the children here were into old episodes of _The Sarah Jane Chronicles_.  I would have assumed they would be catching good old _The Bold and the Beautiful_ or _Days of Our Lives_ or something," Erik speaks as he looks out at the streams of yellow cabs and black cars.

Charles laughs into his mug and lifts his head up with an amused grin on his face. "I made a very generous donation of my old tapes.  And honestly, soap operas are hardly as educational as the _Doctor Who_ franchise will ever be. I imagine I could pick up the story line easily enough now, what with the slow way that is the curse of having multiple plots neatly solved by murder or mysterious twins or- Wait.  Are you a fan of soapies, Erik?  How did I not know about this?"

"I'm not."

Charles' grin broadens, which makes Erik immediately suspicious, as Charles' free arm snakes his waist. "You're awfully quick to reassure me of that, my love.  Don't blame me when I say I don't quite believe you."

"Shut up and lose your eyes," Erik grumbles, waiting for Charles' eyes to flutter shut before leaning down to kiss Charles.  _Passions_ is and always will be infinitely better anyway.

They go back inside soon after and help serve food to the lunch crowd before settling in to spend another few back breaking hours at their table. None of the children are able to convince Erik to say much outside of one worded replies, but Charles is happy to pick up the slack for him. So far, Erik had managed to eavesdrop on varying topics of conversation including _My Little Pony_ , apples or oranges as well as the many different flavours of Jelly Bellies.

They leave just as the sun begins to set and Erik tucks Charles in against his side. thinking just how beautiful and kind-hearted his Charles is.

“I am not as benevolent as you make me out to be, darling,” Charles says, rearranging the scarf that curls around his neck as they walk to pick up some dinner. “This is probably the closest I get to being a toy maker like I used to want as a kid. A little silly aspiration, don’t you think?”

Erik shakes his head. “Considering who you are currently talking to, I don't think it is silly at all.  In fact, I was thinking about it this afternoon and this would be something I encourage with every fibre in my body.

"Even if you think it is something you wanted to become as a child, sometimes those are the best kind of career paths to follow. I used to know someone who wanted to become a toy maker too. They were so enthusiastic and single-minded and sure about it, no questions asked. They would do it. In the end, they inspired me into making Das Spielwarengeschäft mit der Maus.  I wouldn't be here without them.”

A comfortable silence stretches as they turn the corner and wait at the traffic lights. “Do you still talk to this person?” Charles asks, his bright blue eyes twinkling.

“It was a long time ago. You know how growing up tends to pull apart childhood friends. I don’t think they would remember me at all,” Erik replies, side stepping the question, with a sad smile that is hidden by his borrowed scarf.

"Oh don't say that.  I'm sure they would if you just said hello," Charles declares with a bright smile.  If he only knew, Erik thinks behind the mental shields Emma had helped him forge, choosing not to say anything as the lights turn green. Perhaps only time will tell if Charles realises the person Erik spoke of is himself.

* * *

Life begins to settle down again into monotony after his fantastic birthday weekend.  Charles picks at the memory all the time when his experiments prove to be frustrating and the raw data they have collected do not show any correlation with the previous data they have analysed.  That is, of course, not to mention that he had to work on Monday through to Thursday, making Charles a very unhappy bunny.

When Erik shows up on a Friday night, looking as handsome as ever, for their date with Emma and Azazel at a local bar. Charles is more than ready to leave his lab coat in a pathetic little heap in the laundry bag and set fire to the labs in his anger (for which Moira will probably kill Charles in his sleep in the most gruesome and painful way, so Charles desists and settles for throwing scathing glances at the innocent glassware).

He throws himself into Erik's arms and sighs, breathing in deeply and grounding himself with Erik's scent. Charles soaks up all the comfort Erik offers and it slowly calms him down. "How much time have I got to run home and get changed?" Charles mumbles into Erik's neck.

"All the time you need," Erik replies with a fond chuckle and a gentle pat to the top of his head. "Azazel will be swinging by whenever you begin to feel more human."  Charles mumbles something unintelligent and eventually peels himself off so they could make their way back home.  On the way back, they surprisingly meet up with Hank with his arms filled with paper and looking as frazzled as Charles had felt earlier that day when the Raman spectrometer had decided to leave the cruel world for a better place.

"Oh. Hello Charles. Erik. Fancy seeing you here at such an hour.  I had assumed you would be out on a date or at least, you know, at home having dinner or something." Hank flashes an awkward grin as he bends down to push his glasses further up his nose.

"Let me help you with some of that, old chap," Charles says, taking possession of half a stack of Hank's papers. "We're actually going out tonight with some of Erik's friends. Popping home so I can get changed, you see.  You should come out with us tonight."

Hank fidgets with his shoes, ducking his head down a little and looking suitably out of his depth. "I don't know... I would hate to intrude on your date."

Charles opens his mouth, about to say something else, when Erik steps in and clasps Hank's shoulder.  "It is time that you and I got to know one another better, don't you think?  I hardly think several games of Risk and that unfortunate debacle with Candy Land really counts as us bonding. And you look like you could do with a drink."  He hides his chuckle as Erik tries his best to look convincing and sympathetic, but instead, makes him look more menacing and stoic.  There are point given for the undercurrent of 'I-won't-take-no-for-an-answer' that is being transmitted.

"I..." Hank flicks his gaze between them and Charles gives his best hopeful look. "Oh, very well then. I suppose I could, I guess."  Charles does not miss the way Hank looks rather longingly at the papers in his hands, as if they could suddenly speak up and insist Hank stay at home with them all night and all weekend long. Which was probably the plan in the first place, Charles muses to himself.

"Excellent," Erik says as he pats Hank's shoulder, fastidiously ignoring the way Hank slowly wilts under the attention as they walk the last block to the apartment in silence despite the loud sounds of angry traffic around them.

Charles smiles as they take the elevator up and says, "Give us a knock when you're ready to leave Hank!  My door will be open."

Hank nods, clearing his throat uncomfortably as he takes back his pile of papers and disappears behind his door.  Charles looks at the painted wood in thought for a minute and turns around to see Erik has opened the door already.

"I don't suppose we'll have time for a-" Charles flaps a hand in the general direction of his shower and turns to look lasciviously at Erik.

Erik shakes his head, looking for the most part unaffected by Charles' offer. "No.  I don't think I can stop myself at just once.  Now run along.  I'll make myself at home."  Charles watches as Erik's broad shoulders move over to inspect the bookshelf filled with all his fiction books and picks up _The Once and Future King_ off the shelf before settling down with Michael in his lap to read.

There is something familiar about the scene, the way Erik's large hand that covers Michael's back seems all too natural. Charles shakes his head, disregarding the thought almost instantaneously.  Erik is around toys all the time.  It would not be strange for him to be comfortable around them. 

He makes quick work of his shower, the warm water doing absolute wonders in sloughing off the disappointments of the day.  After all, there is alcohol and the weekend to look very forward to now.  He buttons up one of his better shirts and pulls on the pants that he had worn during the day.  They will have to do for now until Erik can take them off him (or so Charles hopes).  Erik is still in the same spot, looking very engaged in his reading, which Charles leaves him to as he goes to hunt down one of his better coats.

There is the sound of quiet knocking and Charles misses the gesture Erik must have made to open his door to admit Hank inside before the dock closes again and the locks turn. "Hi. I hope this is okay?" Hank asks plucking at his grey button down shirt underneath a suit jacket. "I wasn't exactly sure about the dress code so I decided to go smart casual."

"You look wonderful," Charles reassures him as he pulls on his own jacket and goes to wind a scarf around his neck.  He checks his pockets for his keys and his phone, patting himself down until he feels their familiar shape. "Erik, we're ready."

Finally, Erik sets his book down and nods.  He whistles sharply and within a few seconds, Azazel appears in the middle of his living room in a puff of red smoke.  "Evening, Charles, Erik and-"  There is a rogue smirk on Azazel's face when he spies Hank. "I do believe we have not yet met."

"Azazel, this is Hank. He lives across the hall from me and also works at Columbia. Hank, this is Erik's friend, Azazel, who I believe is a barrister," Charles says, making the introductions as manners dictates as the two men shake hands. Hank, to his credit, does not seem surprised at all when at teleporter suddenly appeared out of nowhere. "I asked him to come along if that is fine?"

" _Da_. Come along.  We do not want to anger Lady Emma." Charles links his fingers through Erik's and watches as Erik takes a firm hold of Azazel's free hand.

The act of teleportation is strange and Charles thinks the closest thing to it is by having an out of body experience as they appear in the middle of an establishment that is less a local bar - as Charles had expected - but more of a ritzy expensive club.  Then again, Emma probably would have had one or two choice things to say about the local student bars and it is better for them all for her to have a hand in choosing the location.

She gets up gracefully, looking resplendent in a sharp white suit and a dazzling smile on her face. "Charles," Emma practically purrs as she reaches over to press a kiss on both his cheeks, a ploy probably to get Erik jealous. "You made it.  And who is this?"  She gives Hank an appraising once over.

Erik steps in and smiles. "Emma, this is Hank. Hank, this is Emma." 

Emma offers out her hand and smiles.  "Prehensile feet I see.  Azazel over there has a prehensile tail," she comments as soon as Hank touches the back of her hand with his lips. Charles watches as Hank's shoulders become rigid as he draws back up to his full height, eyes growing wide.  "Telepath. Don't worry, sugar.  I don't bite." 

Charles laughs and ushers everyone to sit, making sure to seat Hank close by, even as Azazel slides in smoothly onto Hank's other side and picks up a small matchbox to play between his long dextrous fingers.  « And I suppose that was meant to be reassuring, Emma? »  He adds mentally as he looks at the drinks menu.

« Oh come now, Charles.  It is just a little bit of harmless fun. Although looking at him again, he probably could use a bite or two. » Emma thinks back teasingly. « And I have a feeling I know just who is going to do the biting. »  There are a series of images that slide into his mind, rather creatively of Emma to do a montage of all the different positions Hank and Azazel could be in.

Charles wonders where the brain bleach can be and thinks it is highly unfair he cannot modify his own memory. « Thank you for that, my friend.  I really did not need to see that. »

Emma is definitely having far too much fun. « Just calling it like I see it.  You know I could plant a suggestion in both their minds and my predictions will come true. »

Someone clears their throat and Charles promptly offers a smile to the waiter, who must have been standing there for some time to be on the verge of scowling at her customers. "I do apologise.  I drifted off into my own mind for a minute there.  I will have the salmon steak please.  Lightly seared thank you."

"Will that be all?" the waiter asks as she gathers up the menus.

Emma tilts her head in thought before replying, "Also two bottles each of the house red and the house white."

Hank's eyes widen and he turns to look at Charles. "Will we be able get through all of that?"

It is Azazel who laughs and answers. "We will be needing many bottles more before the night is through, Hank.  Just you wait and see."

***

Erik cannot remember the last time he had attended a picnic.  As a general rule, Erik tries to avoid social occasions and the outdoors, especially when they are combined.  But he makes an exception for Charles, because Charles is always the exception to every rule he has ever imposed on himself.  He is just not physically wired to say no to Charles. And so, on one sunny Saturday morning despite the temperature, Erik finds himself sandwiched between Charles' empty seat and Azazel attending what is his first and, hopefully, last winter picnic.

 _It is unconventional, but it will be so much fun!  I'm thinking of inviting everyone.  Unfortunately Angel has rehearsal and Darwin is working a shift, but they promised they would swing by if they can. Could you extend an invitation to Raven and the others too?  Oh! Also I want you to get to know Moira a little better too since that is where we'll be having the picnic._ Charles had said almost a week ago when he started organising the whole thing, often getting lost in thought as he jots down on his notepad things he will need to bring.  Being the ever dutiful boyfriend of the host, Erik naturally had no choice but to show up.

He is listening to Azazel complain once again about being the convenient taxi service.  It is a conversation he has had with his oldest friend at numerous times in their friendship and Erik only listens with half an ear about Azazel's woes about being under loved and mistreated as a teleporter; Erik knows when to hum thoughtfully by now.

"I can't believe we are doing this in the middle of winter," Emma grouses as she wraps her coat tighter around her.

Alex agrees with that sentiment, nodding as he warms his hands with his mug of cocoa. "Picnics are for _summer,_ Charles.  We're meant to be having cold beers and ice-cream right now."

Raven giggles as she sits on one of Moira's deck chairs clad in a sun dress and a wide-brimmed sun hat, her plate precariously balanced on her knees.  She has been the centre of envy at her attire all night long and Erik knows she will be insufferable for the rest of the day because of it. "Oh quit your complaining Emma.  You don't want wrinkles, now do you?"

Erik hides a chuckle into the lip of his mug of coffee as Emma whips around so fast that Erik is almost afraid she might sprain something in her old age. "Bite your tongue!  Ugh, you are as bad as your brother, Raven!  How dare you insinuate I am getting _old_."

Sean makes the mistake of laughing and quietly hides behind Moira to shield himself from Emma's wrath.

"Charles, I have decided some of your neighbours need to go," Emma declares and resumes cutting up her steak into small bite-sized pieces. "Except Hank. He's sweet."  The compliment makes Hank's cheeks go red.

Erik turns to look at his boyfriend. Charles rolls his eyes as he mans Moira's portable grill and turns the sausages.  He wisely chooses not to antagonise Emma any further and asks, "I brought a platter of sandwiches, yes of the yummy kind Sean.  Unless everyone wants more garlic bread?"  There is a chorus of opinions and Moira runs back inside to pick up the sandwich platter.

Raven smirks. "I remember that night when we had the merger going on. How could you refuse Charles' sandwiches filled with love that night?"  Irene absentmindedly rubs Alex between his shoulders when nearly chokes.

"For reasons," Erik replies after he swallows a mouthful of steak.  He can remember that night with such clarity, each of Charles' many expressions playing on his mind. It is a good thing that Charles has no interest in becoming a professional poker player - although the telepathy would come into handy, admittedly - as he has the type of face that betrays everything Charles felt.

"That's not good enough," Sean pipes up. "I _love_ the sandwiches Charles brings.  They're really good! You ought to try it.  I hope Charles brought the egg with ham and mayonnaise ones.  Those are my favourite."

Charles returns moments later, his hands full. Azazel's tail spears one as Charles walks past and he lazily inspects it before swallow the carefully cut triangle whole and chewing.  Everyone helps shuffle the plates laden with food around until there is space for Charles to put them down and he takes up the barbeque tongs again.

"I don't think I can ever get used to seeing you do that," Emma comments as she takes a delicate sip of her white wine. "It all looks so _unhygienic._ "

Azazel shrugs. "And you are telling me your hands are the cleanest things to use.  My tail is just like another hand to me." He smiles at Hank, teeth white and gleaming in the sunlight. "I don't suppose you would use your prehensile feet for something like eating."

Hank pushes his glasses up, shaking his head. "No.  Can't say it has occurred to me when I only have one mouth.  What good would it do me to have four sandwiches in hand when I can only chew and swallow so fast?"

"You could leave your hands to do other things," Azazel comments, shrugging once again. "Unless you are every bit a scientist and also neglects to eat at the proper times."

"I eat," Hank mumbles, taking a large bite out of his sausage to prove it.

Erik stands up and goes to keep Charles company, curling an arm around his waist and peering over his shoulder to see how the cooking is going. From what he can see, they had enough food to feed a small army. "Come back to the table and eat, _Liebling._ You've been on cooking duty for far too long.  Let me take over for you for a little while at least.  I promise not to burn anything." He hums in pleasure when Charles kisses him as a reward and watches as his boyfriend goes to sit down.

Absentmindedly, he turns the sausages over until Moira meanders over to observe and then announces that the prawns they are grilling ought to be ready.  Remembering Charles' words, Erik really takes a look at Moira from behind his aviators.

"I suppose you've had the same talk from Charles about getting to get to know one another better?" Erik begins as he plates up the prawns.  This might be one mighty awkward conversation, Erik thinks.

Moira smirks and nods.  "So. I know you met Charles at his part time job and that you are his knight in shining armour that also managed to save his job in one fell swoop. What I want to know is what kind of designs you have on my friend? He is a brilliant geneticist and, as you know, he was supposed to inherit The Little Polar Bear until his mother remarried and the company went to that bastard. Don't pretend you can lie to me.  I have my ways of finding out if you do."  Erik is pleased to note that he can find an ally in her against the Markos.

"Charles is very special to me.  You probably do not believe in love in first sight, and frankly I didn't either, because really, what a clichéd notion. There is a pull that I get from Charles that I cannot help but to follow and I do not have any grand designs of pulling him away from his research or achieving tenure if he so wished.  That will always be Charles' decision.  The fact that I own the toy company that could have been Charles' is all circumstantial." Or at least partially so anyway.  Taking over the struggling company had given Erik the in he needed to export into the North American market and it certainly had been a twist of fate when the Markos had agreed to the merger.

To be honest, Erik had been expecting Charles to be dressed up in a suit and to join the themed party and had almost been disappointed when he did not see him arrive with the Markos.  Fate had a funny way of bringing together two people that should be together.  The moment Charles had come to offer sandwiches off the platter he had been carrying, Erik's brain had shut down momentarily as he spies eyes so blue that they could rival the sky. Emma had been busy asking him what the hell was wrong and Erik had meant to take a sandwich, but by that time Charles had already moved away.

"You're honest.  Good, I like that.  Now I have all sorts of dirt on Charles that I am sure you will find most interesting."

"Excellent.  I am sure we can find some mutual dirt to exploit."  They share a wicked smile just as Charles looks up with a loud protest on his lips.


	7. Chapter 7

When Raven hosts one of her parties and invites what appears to be all the people of New York to attend, Erik chooses to escape from having to socialise by inviting Charles to see his workshop in the morning - which Charles simply _marvelled_ at - and arranges to spend the night with Charles after they have dinner out.  To say there was a lot of inventing going on in Erik's workshop would be to tell a lie when they spent several hours on the battered leather couch Erik had rutting and doing other things.

Charles nearly trips over Erik's bag in the middle of his doorway when they return from dinner. He tries to laugh off his klutziness and palms the lights on, leaving Charles to glare at the offending item from the comfort of his living room.

An affronted Charles is endlessly amusing to Erik. “I hope my overnight bag hasn’t offended you too much and that it was okay to crash here at such short notice,” he comments and bends down to pick up the bag to move it well inside the apartment.

“No, not at all. I love having you here, especially since I get to monopolize you. Are you sure Raven doesn’t mind not seeing you for days on end?” Charles hastens to reassure and ask him at the same time.  From the look on Charles' face, Erik knows he is feeling bad for thinking that Raven even wanted him around in the first place.

“She’s entirely ecstatic about it actually. Says she and Irene can have some alone time.  I know when I need to get the hell out of Dodge.”

Charles cocks his head to one side, a sly smile forming on his lips. It is a nice look on him, Erik thinks. “Alone time? So what she really means is what we’re doing and about to do to every surface of my house?” Such a naughty little minx, Charles turns out to be.

“Yes.” He moves to stand in front of Charles and cups Charles’ face between his hands. Charles' eyelids slide shut - a Pavlovian response to Erik’s physical touch - and Erik can feel Charles sending out smug vibes at him as their lips meet.

"Mm, as you're my guest here, you should have the first shower," Charles says almost breathlessly after Erik is done mauling at his lips.

“How gracious of you, Charles.”

“I am that indeed, for I am your ever so gracious host. Why don't you let me help you out of your clothes, sir,” he adds cheekily as his nimble fingers slowly unbutton Erik’s shirt, slipping one button slowly free from its adjacent buttonhole. Within minutes the white shirt is flung away close to the bed and Charles is digging his fingers gently in against Erik’s abdominal muscles.

“I’m going to go take that shower before I am tempted to do to you what I did this morning and, I suppose, all afternoon against the couch of my workshop.” Charles shivers at the memory, biting down on his lower lip to stop the groan that threatens to spill. Erik wisely disappears behind the bathroom door before Charles can follow him.

* * *

 Charles had an idea on where he wanted the night to go and end - it involved candles, enjoying some good alcohol and chess. All very important ingredients to a very romantic dinner when it comes to his flat. And if he played his cards right, Charles hoped the mental stimulation will translate into some very pleasurable physical stimulation for the both of them.

With Erik in the shower, Charles goes to rifle through the drawers in his kitchen. “I should have candles around here,” Charles mutters, remembering the general vicinity of where he stuffed the box away but not the exact location. It could hardly be called a romantic evening if candles are not involved in some capacity.

He remembered his mother, the paranoid woman that she was, had foisted a set of supposedly blessed candles made of tallow. Charles had never paid that any mind, outside of why his mother hadn’t purchased the cheaper wax alternatives, but he had ended up packing them away in case his apartment experienced any blackouts.

He crows in triumph as he pulls out the wooden box and picks up a stack of saucers on his way to his bed. Sitting down, he begins to light the short stumpy red candles with a pack of hotel matches he had in one of the drawers.

Erik is wonderful, a man whose features certainly _feels_ handsome in the dark. He can’t help but to smile as he thinks about how truly blessed he must be to be able to call his boyfriend. It must be due to his constant contact with Emma that has made Erik so easily accepting of Charles' telepathy.  None of Charles' earlier conquests had ever seemed to understand his need to sometimes dive into another's mind.  To Charles, it is just another way of connecting with someone.

In fact, Erik seemed to understand this.

Their mutual love of chess had been found early on in their relationship and they would always play at least one game whenever Erik came over to visit.  Charles had been quick to reassure him that he wouldn’t cheat, claiming his skills were more than enough to beat Erik with. Erik had shrugged it off but what he said was most surprising of all. _You are allowed to use your mutation, Charles. It’s an inherent part of you and I gladly accept it. You have my permission to have a look, if you so desire._

Erik’s mind is just as beautiful as the man himself.

The very first time he had delved into Erik's mind was breathtaking. He had immediately taken Erik’s word for it, lest Erik decided to have second thoughts about his offer. Charles had taken as much care as possible upon entry as he possibly could. But then, everything he saw there made him pause in awe, revelling in the complexities of Erik's thoughts and the strands of logic that connected thoughts to ideas to memories.

There are as many doors in Erik's mind as there are fish in the sea.  Some of them transparent that allow Charles to see inside in technicolour glory and yet others were thick and opaque, like large safe doors that guarded whatever secrets lay on the other side. It is these doors that Charles is drawn to and he lays a tendril of a thought on the surface.

It pulses underneath his query, like it has a life of its own and whatever Charles can glean from the other side feels strangely familiar. Like it once belonged to someone he used to know but can no longer put his finger on who.

Charles is startled out of his thoughts when hot tallow slides against his finger and drips onto Erik’s shirt to join the other spots gathering on the fabric. He lets out a string of curses that would have made his father proud and quickly puts the candle down on a new saucer.

He ducks down to pick up the shirt and makes a beeline for his laptop, cursing at the ancient thing that takes almost the duration of Erik’s shower to start up. Within minutes, Charles googles how to get tallow out of shirts and completely misses Erik coming out of his bathroom clad only in a small white towel and a white eye mask in his haste to right is wrong.

“Charles? What are you doing over there?  This isn’t exactly the kind of reaction I was hoping for when I suggested strip chess,” Erik purrs and moves to stand behind Charles, running large shower-warmed hands over shoulders. “What is this?  Why are you googling ‘how to get tallow out of my boyfriend's shirt’?”

“I’m so sorry!  I got it all over your shirt. I don’t know the first thing about taking preventative measures against staining,” he explains, fretting as he scrolls down the hits that are absolutely useless and mostly obscure.

Erik laughs and puts a hand over Charles hand. “It’s just a shirt Charles. I have plenty back home for you to destroy. Come. I was promised boiled plant matter in water, alcohol and chess.”

Charles turns around and finally gets an eyeful of his mostly naked boyfriend and quickly stands up, “Are you really going to play strip chess with nothing on?”

“I have a towel, Charles; it’s not nothing. Or did that escape your attention when you were dripping things all over my shirt?” Erik grins like a sea creature that recently escaped from the aquarium.

“It was an accident!  And several spots is hardly all over it,” he wails as Erik herds him towards the kitchen to pick up the tea and the scotch that Charles did not think actually belonged to him.

Erik laughs and takes two cups to set down on the bedside table. Charles puts it out of mind and goes to grab the loose tea leaves. After the kettle whistles, Charles goes to join him.

***

They climb under the covers when the hour hand slips between one and two. The candles are blown out and Charles settles himself down spooning around Erik, a feeling which Erik relishes.  They while a bit more time away as they just stay up talking about everything until the hour finally can no longer be ignored when both of them have places to be in the morning.

It is nice though, Erik thinks, falling asleep with a smile on his face.  It is just like what they once used to do as children on their holiday camping trip.  Back when all of their parents were still alive and things had been much simpler.

He gets rudely awoken when a cold, clammy hand seizes his upper arm and Erik wakes up with a jolt. The first thing he sees is Charles' face, eyes wide and staring up at whatever is looming over them.  His stomach is instantly filled with dread and Erik closes his eyes briefly, hoping against all hope that this is just a bad dream.

"Did you think you could escape us forever, young toymaker?"

Erik feels the blood in his veins turn ice cold. It is a voice that he had hoped to never hear again. And there can only be one reason that could have summoned _her_ to Charles’ apartment.

Oh Charles. Whose shaky hands have moved up to cup his face. “I am so sorry, Erik. I woke up and I knocked off your mask accidentally and then I saw your face. T-This is the reason why, isn't it?” Charles stutters as he flicks his eyes up to the troll queen.  Charles _never_ stutters. Erik slowly opens his eyes and is resigned to the fact that he will now be taken away from the one thing he loves the most. Blue eyes are eerily shiny, filled with unshed tears and looking far too bright against the moonlight that streams through Charles' open window.

“Yes, Charles.” He allows himself to finally think back of memories locked safely away from Charles' mental eyes.  Now that there is nothing left to hide, Erik can finally remember and reminisce about fireworks and a young little boy who had been building sandcastles with his father.  Of Charles who must not have been older than five, offering his favourite mouse plushie and the brightest smile that could rival the sun as a much younger Erik had offered his shark in return.

“You are Max, aren't you? Max Eisenhardt who I used to go on holidays together and play with. Why did I not see this sooner? I'm a telepath for God's sake.” Charles struggles to keep his attention on Erik when the troll queen continues to loom over them.

"Charles, Max Eisenhardt no longer exists. I stopped using that name long ago, hoping that they will never track me down. I am Erik now. Your Erik."

The hand on his forearm tightens and suddenly, Erik is yanked out from their warm nest. She leans in close and smiles, her glee almost palpable as her teeth shine yellow and crooked amongst the dark abyss of her jaw. “My daughter will be ever so pleased to know you will be wed tomorrow. And then you will never see this human ever again.”

“Where are you taking him?” Charles demands as he glares defiantly at the troll, even as he struggles to sit upright in bed amongst wrinkled powder blue sheets.

“Some place where you cannot go, puny human. Our kingdom is located east of the sun and west of the moon, a place that cannot be reached through your pathetic transportation. Give up your dreams of rescuing the toymaker. After all, this is his curse, for he owes us a debt of eternal servitude for what we have granted him in turn.”

Erik meets her gaze steadily, despite the painful ache in his chest. He had to be strong now in the face of adversity. He never wanted this to happen.  He had been so close to breaking the curse had Charles not seen his face for the duration of a year.  He had wanted to keep seeing Charles, going on dates and laughing together at the little things, smiling knowingly as they share little inside jokes. He had been _in love with Charles_ for as long as he could remember, not to be wedded and made husband of some troll princess somewhere, where he had to make toys to amuse her for the rest of his life lest he incurred her wrath.

And yet there was nothing he could do to stop the wheels from turning. “I will go with you," Erik says, resigned to his fate. "Let me put on some clothes and say goodbye.” His voice does not once waver as the troll queen puts him down on the floor, her grip loosening almost suspiciously.

“Better make it a good farewell. The sorrow of humans is ever so delicious to me.” Erik stoically ignores the way she cackles with glee.

Charles is on him instantaneously, his arms curled around his neck and his face buried into the junction between neck and shoulder. “I thought we would never see each other again. I thought you were lost to me forever after my stepfather remarried and we never went on holidays. Max, oh _Erik_ ,” Charles cries as he clings on to him almost painfully.

“Charles, please. Listen to me. I have to go. Do not come after me for I do not want bad things to happen to you.” Erik trails his fingers through Charles' hair one last time, savouring the feel of those chestnut strands through his fingers.

“No Erik. Please don’t go. Don't leave me.”

Erik pulls himself away as gently as possible to put on the white shirt spattered with red and the pair of pants he had folded away last night. “I am so sorry, Charles.  You know if I could stay, I would.  I would do it in a heartbeat.”  He plants one last kiss to Charles lips before taking that first hateful step towards the troll queen who instantaneously digs her claws into his elbow.

“I love you, Charles. Please tell Raven that I love her also.”  He offers what little smile he can, taking in every little detail about Charles.  One moment, all he can see is the devastation written so carefully on Charles’ face and then the next, the apartment which he had grown to know so well shifts into a sparsely decorated room.

The room is dark, cold and devoid of anything. And outside the window, framed with dusty curtains, the rest of the land is still plunged in night.

“You’ll be staying here, little toymaker, until you marry. And don’t even try to escape using your little metal tricks. We learnt very well after the first time you escaped.”  The troll queen cackles and teleports away.

He immediately moves towards the door, trying to open it. Wood, solid wood which has probably been glued together as his gift scrabbles to feel any scrap of metal in the vicinity. It is all for naught. The troll queen had been speaking the truth. Even though Erik had thought, by growing up, his sphere of influence would have also grown, Erik feels nothing except solitude and an anger that cannot be quantified brewing under his skin.

He moves back to sit on the bed, running his hands through his own hair as he looks down at the tallow spots on his shirt. It is the only reminder he has of Charles and the time they spent together.  "Think, Erik.  Think. Charles would not give up this easily and neither should you"

“At least, it is better to have loved him for a short time than to never have had that love returned.” Erik only wished he had told Charles earlier about his feelings.  Three short little words that he will never hear from Charles' own lips and now he knows he will spend the rest of his life wondering if Charles ever felt the same.

* * *

 Charles is freaking out as he sits in the middle of his bed, staring at the spot where Erik and the troll queen had used to be. He knew statistically as a student studying genetics that physical mutations can occur every so often.  But to actually face a physical manifestation that could make someone look like that.  No.  That was most definitely not a person, at least not something that Charles could influence with his telepathy.  He would know, he tried as he panicked throwing every mental offensive thing he could think of to no avail. The troll remained unaffected, shaking off Charles' mental arsenal as easily as water from their skin.

He feels his heart squeeze painfully when he reviews the last minutes he had with Erik. When Erik had wrenched open that iron door in his mind and allowed himself to remember. Not of Erik, but of Max. The young boy he had been pen pals to and spent many hours running around the estate of Westchester when Charles had convinced his mother to let Max visit. Of a young boy who had grown up to be one of the world’s most refined toy makers _because of him_. And the man Charles had inexplicably fallen in love with, despite all of the secrets he kept behind lock and key until now.

If he had only known that tonight would be their last night together. If only. Charles clenches his hand hard into a fist until his fingernails bite into the flesh of his palm. He finally averts his eyes from the spot in his floorboards and lets his gaze land on Erik’s bag.

No.  Charles was not going to let some mad troll take away his Erik. He quickly vaults himself off the bed and rifles through the bag for Erik’s phone.  Raven. There is still Raven who will want to know about this.  Distantly, Charles wonders if Raven even knew about her brother's secret.

“Pants… tie… suit jacket...”  His fingers connect with something furry and Charles pulls it out, feeling his heart leap into his throat when he realises it is James. The little mouse that had lived longer with Erik than it ever did with him.

“Oh James…” Charles says, crushing the toy to his chest as he stroked the fur on its ear. “I never got to tell him how I felt.”  How Charles had felt at the celebration of the merger between Das Spielwarengeschäft mit der Maus and The Little Polar Bear when Erik had helped him out with his wound and his job and everything.  It had all started in that one moment.

He shakes himself out of his daze and sets James safely on top of the blankets before resuming his search for Erik’s phone, crowing triumphantly a minute later when his fingers make contact with the plastic.

“Please don’t be locked…” he mutters under his breath, thanking whichever deity would listen at his luck when the screen lights up and displays the main interface.  The phone chimes and Charles tilts his head as he realises Erik has messages on his phone from **_groovy_oxfordian_** _._   Wait.  Charles feels his jaw drop as he scrolls through pages upon pages of conversation between himself and **_der_haifisch_**.  How could it possibly be? 

His mind reels with all the knowledge he has learnt and he hits the call button as soon as the cursor hits her name.

She picks up with a groan on the fourth ring, “Erik. What on earth?  It’s four in the bloody morning. You better have- ”

“It’s Charles, Raven. Erik-” Charles cringes as he struggles to find the appropriate words to explain how his brother has been whisked away by this troll like figure and they may never see him ever again.

“Oh. Oh no. He’s not with you, is he?" Charles makes a wheezy sort of noise in response.

"Okay.  It's okay Charles. Breathe.  Good thing I prepared for this. We’ll be over in a few minutes. Get dressed if you haven't already.”  She disconnects the call before Charles can get a word in edgewise. He moves quickly to do as he is told, putting on pants and a shirt and Erik’s leather jacket.

It takes Raven longer than the few minutes that she promised, by which time, Charles had called everyone he knew about finding where exactly east of the sun and west of the moon lies. Tony and Steve had been supportive but ultimately went back to sleep after passing the baton on. Funnily enough, it turns out to be Thor who tells what little he knew of the lands at the tip of the world where the race of trolls reside. Clint mentions over the extension phone that Thor means Greenland before Phil plucks the phone out of Clint’s grasp and offers to get S.H.I.E.L.D on it if Charles wanted.

“Fear not, you will see your beloved soon. I shall be glad to provide my assistance if you wish it.” Thor’s voice is as reassuring as it is loud and Charles gives a small smile into the empty space of his apartment.  It all seems so much bigger now that there was not anyone to share it with.

“Thank you, Thor, but it will not be necessary. I-  I should think Erik’s sister and I can handle this.”

“If you are certain, Charles. You need only ask if you change your mind. I wish you and your beloved are reunited with post haste.” The call disconnects and Charles is pulls his phone away from his ear. He wonders if he is going into shock or if Erik’s leather jacket really is terrible at retaining heat.

Alex and Sean frown at one another, having been woken up by one of Charles' calls already.  Hank looks busy as his pen races across a notepad while Angel and Darwin argue quietly in the kitchen as they make tea for everyone.

Charles sits and then decides he wants to stand; he paces the length of his dark apartment and then he decides to fiddle with James and Michael, rearranging them on his blanket so they fit as close as physically possible. Charles tries not to notice the way his hands are shaking as he goes back to wearing down his floorboards.  No one stops him.

Just as Charles is about to get another round of hot water boiling, Raven teleports into the room with Azazel and Irene in tow.  The sound makes everyone but Hank jump.

“Raven!  What took you so long?  They could be doing all sorts of things to him right now.” The rest of Charles’ demands are cut off when Raven pulls him in close, hugging him to her blue scaled form. The embrace makes him all too aware that he is shaking.

“Charles. I’m so sorry this had to happen. Believe me when I say that I wish I could have prevented this for the both of you.” They part and Raven takes his arm gently.

Azazel's expression is oddly solemn as he says, "We will get him back.  There is nowhere on Earth that I cannot get to."  His tail flickers and he turns to return both of Alex and Sean's stares evenly.

“What did you mean by 'prevented this' Raven? You knew about the curse and you didn’t tell me about it?”  His temper flares up, for being so hopeless and misinformed of the situation. Could this have been avoided if he had just been more vigilant about avoiding Erik’s face? He feels so angry at himself as the grip on his telepathy slips, uncoiling like invisible tentacles that sway in the air ready to strike and constrict around Erik’s sister. He is about a second away from ransacking Raven’s mind when Irene steps up, her hand a vice grip around his wrist.

Irene says softly, “Charles, control yourself. Everyone here wants to help you and we all know how much Erik means to you.”  There are a chorus of 'yeah's that sound all too hollow to Charles' ears?

“But how do we _find_ him?” Charles asks hoarsely, as he turns to look at everyone in the room. The images waver steadily through the veil of his unshed tears. “How do I _know_ that-”

“I’m his sister, Charles!  I love him too! Do you think I would stand by idly and let someone take him away without a fight?” Raven bursts out. “Charles, please let us help you. Irene, let him go.”

Charles scrubs his face with both his hands, taking in a staggering breath as he tries in vain to keep the tears from spilling. “No, you don’t understand. I never told him how I felt all this time. How am I supposed to find her kingdom when she tells me cryptically that it is east of the sun and west of the moon and Thor’s words that it is in Greenland?  How am I meant to find Erik before he gets married or killed or-?”

He hears someone sigh and then Raven’s arms are around him once more. “Charles. There surely can’t be that many places to form a troll kingdom in Greenland. It’s a start at the very least, assuming this Thor knows what he is talking about. Come now, wipe your eye sweat and we’ll start looking for him.”

"We will all go," Sean says vehemently and everyone slowly files out of Charles' apartment to get dressed for the occasion.

When they reconvene a scant few moments later, wearing as many layers as possible, Azazel says, “I think we ought to start in Nuuk and see what we can find there. I used to go there as a boy so I know the layout of the town. At the very least we can get some help there.”

There are no objections from anyone and they all link hands. The apartment swirls away in a cloud of red smoke and replaced by a small village, where houses are neatly aligned and look seemingly identical in design. Charles wonders if he could smell sulphur and brimstone for that split second or whether it was just a figment of his imagination. Azazel looks rather the worse for the wear as he leans against Hank for support, but assures them that he is perfectly fine.  It must have been straining carrying so many people over to another country.

The first thing that Charles notices about Greenland is the temperature, far colder than what he is used to in New York. It bites through the layers he is wearing and slowly wraps its cold fingers around him before slowly squeezing every bit of warmth out of him.  Charles does not think his thighs have ever experienced this kind of cold. 

The second thing that Charles notices is the lack of people mingling around in the snow despite the hour, if the world clock application on his phone can be trusted.

“We should split up in pairs and see what we can find. See if the locals around here know anything about how to get there,” Raven announces. “Irene and I will go down to the local pub - do they even call them that or should I be using the term _tavern_? Give us a holler if you find anything.” She trots off with Irene on her heels, her scales clicking quietly as she assumes an Aryan disguise.  Sean and Alex decide to ask the local bookstore while Darwin, Angel and Hank try some of the restaurants in the center of town.

The others split off and make their way throughout the village.  If there is any news of Erik, Charles is convinced they will find it.

“Any ideas where we should go for news?” Charles asks as he wraps his arms around himself and rubs uselessly at his forearms.

Azazel waves a hand towards the direction of the sea. “The docks are always a good place to start; fishermen are known to be extremely knowledgeable. Maybe you can find something there with your mind tricks?”

Charles nods, taking a deep breath of the frigid air and does a half turn before Azazel’s hand descends upon his shoulder and he teleports them into an alley close enough to the docks to smell the fish. “I do wish you’d give a chap more notice before you do that so that one could prepare themselves for the journey.”

Azazel grins, undoubtedly deriving some sort of sordid amusement out of this situation. “I apologize. Shall we then?” Charles nods and they walk down to the docks, the sound of gulls screeching overhead and the overpowering scent of fish getting stronger with each step.

Taking Azazel’s idea, Charles slowly assimilated the knowledge from the people around him as unobtrusively as possible. He had never particularly liked gaining knowledge in this fashion, and the skills he picked up hardly ever stuck unlike the hard earned Latin vocabulary he had picked up through many years of ‘veni vidi vici’.

They stop at the first fisherman that they see and Charles asks whether they knew of the kingdom that is east of the sun and west of the moon with his best charming smile. The older man gives them a growl, waving at them to keep moving. The next three reacted in a similar fashion and Charles slowly feels himself getting disheartened by the wasted time and having nothing to show for it.  He only hopes the others have found something at the very least.

“Maybe Raven and Irene have something?” Azazel says awkwardly, giving a shoulder pat in, what Charles thinks, is reassurance. It is very difficult to tell through all the layers he is wearing.

“What if we’re too late to stop the wedding?”

Azazel gives him a weird look and then lets out a bellow of laughter. “Charles, what century are you living in?  You have heard of divorce right?  I'll even take your case on for free.”

Charles glares. “I’m not sure divorce quite covers marriage to trolls.”

“Don’t be so closed-minded and pessimistic. We will find Erik before anything of the sort can happen to him,” Azazel vows, steering them back towards the shore.

Charles sighs softly and turns to stare at the moored boats, stopping suddenly when he sees a man with long blonde hair beckoning him with a curl of his finger. His feet magically walk towards him, as if they suddenly had a mind of their own to reroute Charles’ direction. His eyes are emerald green and Charles is having second thoughts about whether he is a man at all.

The blond man gives Charles a cursory glance before he speaks. “The kingdom of which you seek is far into the distance where only the four winds dare to go. The royal family who reside east of the sun and west of the moon are greedy and easily jealous. Here, take this golden comb, for you will find it most useful in your journeys.”

“Why are you offering your assistance, sir, when all the others merely scoffed at my query?” Charles asks as he accepts the comb, tucking it away into one of his pockets.

The blond man closes his eyes momentarily, before opening them slowly. “Men are easily intimidated by forces that they do not understand. You will find my brother awaiting you in Sisimiut.”

“I… How will I know how to find him?” Charles asks.

 “You will know.” The man tilts his head slightly and then returns to his net mending.

“Charles?” Azazel’s voice carries out over the wind and it is like snapping out of a reverie as the sound of working boats and stench of fish guts assaults his senses once again. Azazel jogs down the steps of the deck and asks, “Are you alright?”

“I was just speaking to this gentleman…” Charles says gesturing to the air where the blond man had once sat. “Huh. Odd, he was sitting right here a minute ago. He gave me this comb.”

Azazel gives him an odd look but easily accepts his claim in stride. “There wasn’t anyone sitting there earlier but I suppose things work mysteriously. Was he helpful at the very least?”

Charles nods, recalling the man’s words. “We need to go to Sisimiut. There is someone there that can help us. Let’s meet up with the others and get there as soon as possible. That is, if you've caught your breath back.”

"Hmph!" Azazel sniffs in disdain and just for that, teleports around the entire village to gather everyone up before making that leap to Sisimiut.


	8. Chapter 8

Erik sits on the bed with his legs up, glaring in disgust at the empty space outside the window. The world is painted white and Erik lets out a disgruntled sigh for having found no faults with the room. It looks frosty outside and in only a shirt and pants, he is glad that at least the room is warm.  That is one thing the trolls had gotten right.

The past two weeks had been filled with meetings with the Markos and then his more pleasurable sojourns with Charles; he has hardly had any time to reflect upon the past and organize his thoughts. Well, Erik thinks with annoyance, there will be plenty of time for that now.

With the curse catching up with him, Erik finds he does not know what to do with himself, except to ignore the world at large and, of course, think about Charles. Erik clings faithfully to the last vestiges of belonging solely to Charles until he is forced into this unsavoury marriage with the troll queen’s daughter.  And why they wanted to marry a human never made any sense to Erik.

It had all started when he lost both his parents in an airplane crash and yet had been the only survivor. He had naively accepted the troll’s help when it was offered.  Raven had still been young and they were very far away from home with no proper means of supporting themselves without the queen's words. He had agreed readily to her terms so long as he could return to his home and live with Raven with the only concession that should the one he loves fail to love him back after the duration of a year, Erik would return.

Erik buries his face into his hands, closing his eyes as he recalls days of escaping from her clutches.  And yet, so many years had already passed. He had changed his name, his appearance and thought he had been safe.

_One day, my sweet toymaker, one day you will belong solely to my daughter and you will use your imagination, creating toys for all your children in my kingdom. We will be watching. We will be waiting._

* * *

 Sisimiut is another quaint little village, modelled similarly to Nuuk with rows upon rows of houses and layers upon layers of snow and ice and cold. Everyone had looked dubious when Charles mentioned the blonde man, even when faced with the evidence of the golden comb, but Irene had smiled in that all-knowing way of hers.

“How would I know where to look next?” Charles asked, feeling out the shape of the comb in his pocket.  To what purpose was the comb meant to fulfil?  What kind of magical properties did it have? And why a _comb_ of all things?

Raven huffs and takes Charles’ elbow. “Okay. Let’s go search for your mystery man. Surely the pub will have someone this time around.”

“R-Raven!”  Charles splutters as she drags him down in one direction, her pub sense strangely very finely tuned. The others laugh and scatter once again.

“I can’t believe my selfish prick of a brother would leave without saying goodbye. When we find him, I will kill him,” Raven declares, not stopping in her word train to let Charles get a word in edgewise, “He’s a complete idiot thinking we couldn’t have helped him earlier. Did you know, he thought himself so clever when he figured out how trolls actually monitor him?

“I have a theory that they don’t actually react to the hiding his face, more than the finding his one true love. Like they have some hidden trigger made from, I don’t know troll magic or something that reacts to Erik finding you again.  All of this is completely bollocks anyway.  What was Erik _thinking_?” 

Charles felt his face warm immensely despite feeling none of his features.  “R-Raven… I don’t-”

She keeps going, steamrolling over every attempt Charles of interjecting into the conversation. “It doesn’t make sense. Why did they find him after so long?  Erik’s thirty something for heaven’s sake. Surprise if you didn't know! So really the only logical conclusion…”  Raven lets go of Charles momentarily to gesticulate wildly in the air.

Charles tunes her out when something catches his attention, a voice brushing up against the periphery of his telepathy that leaves Charles flicking his head from left to right in hopes of pinpointing the source.

 _“Charles,”_ the voice says, “ _Come closer, child. Find me and I shall provide aid. Follow your instincts and this golden hourglass shall be yours. How far will you go to find the kingdom? Come to me, Charles, if you can solve this riddle: A white dove flies down from the parapets. A king comes along and picks it up without his hands, eats it without his teeth, and carries it away without its wings.”_

 _If I answer your riddle will you reveal yourself and show me the way? Tell me!_ Charles sends out, standing stock still as he waits for a reply. He does not even realize Raven has run off ahead as he stands about waiting for an answer that never comes.

What on earth was that riddle?  Charles fancies himself a pretty intelligent guy, far above the average thank you very much, and yet he could not make head nor tail of the question. What on earth had this poor dove done to deserve such a cruel end?  Perhaps it was a reflection of the atrocities human nature or peace has inflicted upon Mother Nature.

“-arles?  Charles? Planet Earth to Major Charles!” Raven says as she waves her hands in front of his face, causing Charles to start.

“Raven. How good are you at solving riddles?”

She gives him a strange look before answer, “Not very good. I don’t have the patience for them like Irene does and even with the answer I’m left baffled by how the riddle all fits, you know? Why? It's hardly the time for riddles, Charles!”

Charles flaps his hands in lieu of anything more constructive and quickly informs Raven of the mysterious voice. “A riddle that we have to solve which will hopefully lead us to Erik.”

“No pressure there! So a dove and a king huh… What the hell? What if we’re wrong or can’t answer the riddle?”

“I don’t know. We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. Let me see if I can locate the others…” Charles closes his eyes and sends his telepathy out like a fisherman casting out a net. He quickly sorts out all the little thoughts, not dwelling long on minds that were thinking in Kalaallisut and slowly whittles down all the little spots of mind in his woven web till he finally locates the bright lights that represent minds of those that he knows.

He had not realized that they had been moving until Raven escorts Charles towards a little woodwork shop before wandering in. He really has to start paying more attention to the world at large when using his telepathy. “Let them know about the riddle. I'll see if I can get any more information from that nice gentleman over there. Is the dove some sort of metaphor for purity or something?  Does that make the king some lunatic for eating the dove?  I wonder if it tastes like pigeon...”

Charles ends up blocking her out as he sends out the mental equivalent of a door knock. « Can you hear me? » Irene sends a wordless inquiry back.

« I may have a lead on something, but it requires us to solve a small puzzle. It's a tricky little riddle. If we are correct, then we are one step closer to finding Erik. »

Irene exudes a sense of smugness over their mental links. « I do enjoy dissecting a tricky riddles from time to time. Please, do share, and perhaps we can be of some assistance in finding the solution. » Charles relays the puzzle obediently to everyone and feels similar confusion coming from Sean and Alex despite Hank's mind whirling a mile a minute to find the solution.

« Give Hank and I a minute to think about this, and keep Raven out of trouble, won’t you? » Irene closes their link and Charles leaves them to mull over it in silence, He turns instead to Raven and watches as she attempts to inquire about the kingdom of trolls, with not much luck.

He quickly apologises and gently herds Raven out the door when the shopkeeper becomes steadily more irate. “How rude! I was only asking him questions that could mean the life and death of my dear brother.  How can people not see that?” She huffs and folds her arms across her chest, mutters darkly about the human race at large underneath her breath.

“Aren’t you cold?” Charles asks, thinking a change of tact will keep Raven’s mind better occupied on other matters. He really did not want to become an accomplice to a murder, even if the shop itself had been a welcome reprieve.

“I told you before, Charles, I’m a chameleon.”

“Chameleons prefer tropical climates, Raven,” Charles points out.

She waves a hand about, clearly dismissing the point. “Hush, Charles. I’m a… a temperature chameleon. All of this isn’t just cosmetic you know.”  Raven gestures to herself and grins.

“That’s very fascinating. How does it all work?” Charles asks, intrigued by her genetic mutation. “I mean, there has to be some kind of thermodynamics behind everything that explains how you insulate yourself from the climates, especially when you look so lovely and these clothes look so real. Surely there has to be some logical explanation? Maybe relating to the conservation of mass and the distribution of your-” He stops mid-thought when Raven smiles widely at him.

“You are adorable, Charles. Do you know how Schmoopy you and my brother are? I’ll have you know that you are absolutely Schmoopy with a capital S and an extra serving of Schmoop on top of that. Schmoopy Schmoop. You and your genetics and science makes Erik all swoony and I seriously think I know your dissertation better than I know my own life story by now with how often he brings it up,” Raven comments. She taps her finger to her bottom lip. “He never shuts up about you, you know?”

“We will find him, Raven, even if we have to travel to the ends of the earth to do so-”

Raven interrupts him, “We already sort of are at the end of the earth, if not surely the middle of nowhere.”

“Yes, well... I just hope that these trolls didn’t decide to build their kingdom on the summit. I wasn’t made to climb things at an elevation of above three thousand, you know.”

Raven laughs. “That, at least, is a sentiment I can agree with wholeheartedly.”

They continue to wander aimlessly until Hank's voice suddenly projects to him. « The answer is snow that is melted by the sun. The only logical explanation for this riddle is simple enough, although the reasoning is a bit... »

Irene’s mental voice is dry. « We made a few giant large leaps of logic to make it work, but Irene and I think we’ve managed to crack it. The dove is a tangible thing and symbolizes snow - well except blizzards - but powder snow is nice and white, I guess. »

« Where the snow lands is irrelevant in this puzzle. The royal in question is the sun. The sun casts its rays upon the snow, melting it and slowly evaporates the snow. » Hank finishes, and probably would be grinning at that point in time.

« That actually makes some sort of sense, in a convoluted manner.  Thank you for your hard work. »  Charles quickly fills Raven in and she stares at him blankly as if to say 'What?  What kind of riddle is this?'.

Raven continues to look a little perplexed but otherwise remains quiet about the explanation as Charles projects his answer out and waits for an answer. _“Is this the answer? Snow that is melted by the sun?”_

A brunette man wearing glasses and clad in a cloak turns the corner of one of the houses and looks straight at Charles. He looks like any normal person they could have passed on the streets, except for blue eyes that twinkle with mischief and a smirk on his long elegant face. “You solved it! Did you like my little riddle?  I thought it was quite clever of me.”

“Oh very much so," Charles hastens to agree, despite how impatient he was to get to Erik. "We’ve solved your riddle, sir. Can you please point us in the right direction?”  Their rescue definitely depended on getting from A to B quickly.

The man scratches his cheek and approaches, his footsteps eerily absent of any sound and there are no footprints in the blanket of white that Charles can see. “Well. I suppose you did answer my riddle and that was my condition. Very well then. You are getting closer to the place that you wish to find, but you are not quite there yet. I have yet another brother who resides in Qaanaaq, he will be of utmost help to you. You will need to travel along Baffin Bay to get there.”

Charles shakes his head. “That will not be an issue. We must travel to the troll kingdom as soon as possible, you see.  I thank you, sir, for your help and guidance.”

The man nods slowly and then from the folds of his cloak, he produces a golden pendant which is placed into Charles' open palm. “I foresee that you will have need for this item. As to the directions to lands which we do not tread, only my brother in Qaanaaq has ever set foot in that place and he is the only one that knows the way. I am certain that he will lead you down the right path, young telepath.”

* * *

Erik looks up and immediately shifts into a defensive stance as the door swings open and the troll princess in question walks in. A servant walks in behind her, a platter of food and a wooden flask set on a wooden tray and Erik is immediately suspicious of what the contents may or may not contain.  The food is set upon the small table after which the servant retreats out the door. Erik does not even bat an eyelash at the action; he definitely will not be touching anything on that tray.

“What do you want?” Erik asks sharply. He keeps his hands fisted by his side, ready to strike at any given moment, as he watches the princess make a circuit around the spartan room.

She turns around deliberately and gives him a smile, a certain speculative glean in her eyes. “You know you must eat to have strength. I am surprised you haven’t actually tried escaping yet, given the circumstances and your track record. You were so good at it all those years ago when I wasn't ready to be wedded to you just yet.”

Erik does not approach the table to even survey the selection on the platter, declaring, "And were you expecting me to be plaint about this arrangement? I would rather starve."

She shrugs, surveying her nails with an air of disinterest. “You’ll have to eat at some point, by which time you won’t be so feisty. Even if you don’t eat, you’ll need to drink. I have no wish to marry a corpse. So, think wisely, my pretty toy-maker.”  She snaps and breezes out the door, the lock sliding into place with a note of finality. Erik glares at it for good measure, loathing the day the trolls actually rubbed enough brain cells together to remove all the metal in the vicinity.

He sighs when the door does not spontaneously combust as he willed it to, returning to stare at the open horizon with his arms folded over his chest. The first time around, Erik’s powers had manifested which allowed him to escape before hunger or thirst took over his mind and body.

He knows of stories, whether they are true or not remains to be seen, whereby taking a bite of any food the troll provides will bind a person to the lands forever.  Erik did not have any plans to be bound anywhere and hopes against all odds that Charles or Raven, just _anyone_ , will find him before it is too late.

* * *

There is a man holding a lamp embellished in a border of gold at the end of a rod who follows them as soon as they had arrived in Greenland. Only they do not know that yet. He is dressed simply in a robe that shines silver and walks around in bare feet that whispers against the snow. Only they cannot see him yet. He follows Charles for now, like a faithful dog to its owner, moving as silent as a shadow, simply observing each and every one of Charles’ moves. Soon, he will prove himself worthy of his help. They all will.

They move quickly and scatter in all directions, looking for the brother of the blonde man with green eyes and the brunette man with blue eye. Charles gave a short mental spiel about Gregor Mendel and pea plants, giving them a mental description of what this third brother should potentially look like. He connects their minds using his telepathy as they map the small town of Qaanaaq for the man that could possibly match the mental picture.

« You know, you’re like the cheap alternative to a conference call! » Raven says, marvelling at Charles’ skill.  She must have been having fun with her ability to speak to them all at the same time.

« I’m not entirely sure I appreciate this certain comparison, Raven. » Charles scowls and thrusts his hands deeply into Erik’s jacket, his fingers searching in vain for some semblance of warmth in the corners.  He should have brought his gloves along.

« Anyway, you’re assuming that they are brothers and not, you know, _brothers_. He might not even follow your pea plants and recessive genes thing and might be a dwarf with ginger hair for all we know. » Alex adds.

Charles lets out a short bark of laughter, shaking his head solemnly as Sean starts talking about _bros before hoes,_ « If we can steer this segue back onto the main topic please? »

Angel sends a mental scoff. « We can’t exactly hunt down for a guy who might be a bro or a _bro,_ you know? It could be just about anyone off the street. Didn’t that other guy give you any clues? »

This brings up a whole slew of other issues, and Charles tunes them out as they argue over the logistics of whether it is easier to find a needle in several haystacks or a guy who could be anyone.

Alex pipes up with a « Well if we had Erik, then I guess we'll know which one is easier. »

« Ah, but you see, we’ll end up arguing and running around in circles because to get to Erik, we have to find the guy, but to find the guy, it would be like finding a needle in a hay stack which would be simple in a physical sense if we had Erik. » Hank says sagely.

« It's like Schrodinger's Cat! » Sean shouts, causing everyone to wince.

« Indoor voice please Sean. Not so much as Schrodinger's Cat as a causality problem where one part is dependent on the other.  Besides, if we had Erik now, we really wouldn't need to be doing this hunt in the first place. »  Charles says as he trots down the main street.

He does not know how much time has lapsed trying in vain to find the man. Charles had even passed the main sign for Qaanaaq that declares the population is around 300, and he is convinced that he has seen all of them and their dogs out on his search by now.  For such a little town, there were oddly a lot of activity when compared to Nuuk and Sisimiut.

Charles spots Irene in the distance and goes to catch up with her as she slowly meanders towards him. The winds around them play with the mist and for almost a second, he thinks he sees another person standing behind Irene. He shakes his head and blinks, but the shape was merely an illusion of the wind playing with his mind.

“Irene!” he calls out to stop her, jogging over the uneven layers of snow to stand before her. “Did you find anything?”  He cannot help the optimism that creeps into his voice.

She tilts her head slightly, only to smile in that calm way of hers. “You never did ask why Raven chose to bring me along nor ask about my skillset. Azazel is an obvious choice. Raven is Erik’s sister and you are his lover. Your neighbours were merely a probability but all choice to follow you out of deference and loyalty.”

Charles shakes his head and awkwardly clears his throat when he realises Irene cannot see the action to say, “No. I trust Raven’s judgement on this matter. Although, now that you mentioned it, I am rather curious as to what your particular skillset. That is if you wish to tell me.”

Irene pauses in thought for a moment. “Charles, do understand that this is something about me that I do not share with just anybody, and of the few people that possess this knowledge, they had to earn it. I do not give my trust out easily,” Irene says. Charles is a little speechless at the hidden implication, and finds himself second-guessing his worthiness when he hasn’t done anything spectacular that should warrant her to part with her secret.

Her words hang heavily in the air between them, like a ship’s anchor in a sea of something he cannot put his finger on, and so Charles settles for not saying anything at all. “You already know I have a gift in precognition but I too am psionic which leads to a high accuracy in my foretelling. I must stress the importance of keeping my abilities - my _mutation_ \- out of the wrong hands.  I can see all the probable paths that the actions of others around me can lead but only into the next few seconds into the future.”

He runs his tongue over his lips and swallows to wet the back of his throat. “What is that like? I have never met another with such a gift as yours.”

“It is… unimaginable. Overwhelming. I can spheres of opportunities based on the decisions that an individual makes. Around you, there are a number of actions laid out to you, which lead to certain cause and effect. Your choices in the immediate future are obvious to me, but how this affects us finding Erik, I cannot say. You must make the choice on your own, but I will be able to guide you.”

Charles nods mutely and finds his finger trace out the ornate patterns gilded into the handle of the golden comb that lies at the bottom of his left jacket pocket. “Okay. I trust you won’t point me down the wrong path.” His head just spins trying to think about how precognition would fit in against his own telepathy.

“That remains to be seen in this test of yours.” Irene lifts her shoulders and waits.

“That much I have gathered for myself. Please allow me to use you as a sounding board. To what purpose must they continue testing me?  Are they guardians of the kingdom?  No, we wouldn’t be running around like headless chickens if that were the case. Then are they our friends?  This is also improbable, otherwise we would not be playing their games."

Irene smiles serenely but says nothing as Charles continues to think. "The only logical answer left is, they are busy bodies with entirely too much time on their hands and the only reason why no one has been able to find him in a town with a population of 300 is because he has been following me all this time, living in my shadow.”

A slight wind picks up that is warm as the last brother finally appears, rising from Charles' shadow. He is dark haired, like the people he walks amongst, and his eyes are the hue of the mist that rolls over the snow. “Oh how very clever of you, young telepath.  I must applaud your detective skills for I have observed you for a long time, watching and waiting. Perhaps you will be the one that will be able to withstand the trials and tribulations of getting to the place you seek. If the bond between you and the one you search for is as true as the tales of old, then you will find the way _illuminated_ to you.

"I bequeath this lamp and a pair of golden eardrops, for you may never know when you will need to _charm_ someone. The kingdom that lies east of the sun and west of the moon is beyond that mountain yonder. There is still time for you to save the one you seek, and then, perhaps not.” Charles watches as the dark haired man laughs and slowly melts into the air right before his eyes.

Irene chuckles softly. "So they were _brothers_ and not actually related as Mr Summers succinctly put it earlier, I assume?"

"How am I to know how these ethereal spirits are conceived?" Charles says as he looks down at the lamp in one hand and the earrings in the other.

She hums and then shrugs. "They work in mysterious ways. The others are walking towards our location now.  Should I expect we are on the last leg of our surprise adventure?"

"That remains to be seen, Irene.  But I certainly hope so." Charles closes his eyes and lets out a long sigh, as his mind whirls back to the moments before the troll queen had appeared in his bathroom and he had seen the entirety of Erik's face: the strong cheekbones and the curl of long eyelashes.  He could not resist pressing gentle fingertips against the side of Erik's eyes where crow’s feet appear whenever he smiles or laughs.  If only his telepathy worked against trolls, Charles could have done something to have prevented this.

A hand on his arm causes him to open his eyes. Raven hovers, looking concerned. "Are you alright?"

"I will be as soon as we get there." Charles knows the closer he gets to the troll kingdom, the closer he will be to getting Erik back. "You were right, you know. The last brother had black hair and grey eyes.  He gave me these."  The lamp is lifted with his right hand as he opens up his left palm to display the gold jewellery and then pockets the eardrops away.

There is a sudden pain that blossoms over his arm as Raven punches him in the upper arm. “You said _pea plants_. I _believed_ you. He looks nothing at all like the possibilities that you described!  Just goes to show you, Mr Genetics.”

“How was I supposed to know that?” Charles grouses and rubs the sore spot on his arm with the heel of his hand.  Damn, Raven punched hard.

“In any case," Azazel interrupts smoothly, "What exactly are we meant to do with the lamp and all the jewellery you keep acquiring?”

Charles shakes his head, not quite certain how to answer the second half of Azazel's question. “I don’t know about the jewellery, but this lamp needs to be lit, and then I assume we follow the light or something will happen. Like it blows up.” 

"It may be an idea to get it lit at the top of a mountain. That way you'll have a better idea of the direction we need to be going in," Darwin suggests.  It is a sound plan and Charles agrees.

Azazel nods, curling his tail around Charles’s wrist. "Charles and I will go to Gunnbjørn Fjeld, the tallest mountain here in Greenland. We will be back. Ready?" 

Charles nods and cannot help the swooping sensation in his stomach as they dematerialise and rematerialize at the summit. They stand amongst the snow, exhaling and watching their breath swirl in the air and waft over a large dense forest which seems uncharacteristic of a large country made mostly of ice.

Patting himself down for a box of matches, Charles sweeps all his pockets for something to light the lamp with. "I don't suppose you've got any matches or a lighter with you?"

Azazel does a quick search of his own pockets before a wide smile spreads on his face as he triumphantly fishes out the box he must have taken with him after the dinner with Hank, Erik and Emma. "I guess it is your lucky day that I took these the other night, well, not so much lucky really with what just happened.  But you know what I mean."  Charles lets out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he opens up the little door of the lamp.

Together, they light the lamp and watches as golden light emanates from the lamp to point in a straight line into the far distance causing little crystals of snow to sparkle.  Charles slips the door shut and secures the little latch on the side.

“What do we do, Charles?” Azazel asks, turning his head to look at him.

"Like you had to ask.  Of course we go find Erik by going to wherever this lamp will lead us." Charles looks down at the lamp in his hand and frowns.  "We have come so far. I refuse to leave without him."

“What do we do with the trolls then?”

Charles stops fiddling with the handle and turns to look at her straight. “Hope that they don’t get in our way because if they try to stop us, I will not hesitate to do what I must. Living without Erik in my life was never an option.”

* * *

 The end of the light leads them to a large stone structure that makes up a defensive outer wall with no guard in sight. The light emanating from the lamp points towards the only door in the wall.

"We should take a general sweep of the layout of the land to see what we can use to our advantage, establish a map of the place," Alex says, effectively breaking the silence.  All those years playing first person shooter games seem to be paying off.  Angel and Hank volunteer and set off on both wings and foot, Sean ultimately rebuffed because his method of flight would attract undue attention to them.

"We'll have to do the same for the inside too.  Quickest way to do that will be to split up and meet somewhere in the centre," Sean says thoughtfully.  They decide to go with that plan and Charles finally pushes against the door that creaks on complaining hinges as it swings slowly open.

There is only silence that greets them as they file into an open courtyard, the canopy of leaves above opening up to allow ambient light to flow in. The courtyard is cobblestoned and there are a number of branches that could lead them on a wild goose chase. Getting lost would have been hopelessly imminent had they not had Angel to keep an eye out for their progress.

It is the opposite of what Charles had been expecting. Typically trolls preferred the wet and he had assumed they lived in some sort of squalor, consumed by their greed and jealousy.  Of course, Charles should know better than to base the one he saw and compare their habits to those on _Merlin_.  Apparently evolution itself was not only limited to humans even if trolls lived in such a desolate place as this.

"Okay." Charles looks down at his watch, resolutely not thinking about how time is ticking away far too quickly. "I will be in contact with you at all times. Do not hesitate if you need me."  He taps a finger against his temple and smiles thinly.  "Let's move out."

Azazel ends up shadowing Charles as they move quickly on foot. “I certainly can’t complain if there wasn’t a welcoming committee here waiting for us,” Azazel comments as they turn a corner to get closer to the castle in plain sight.

Charles merely hums in reply, concentrating on piecing together a serviceable map from the data everyone is collecting.

They must have reached a marketplace for finally there are signs of life. The civilians around them do not bat an eyelash as they carried on about their day. Most of them could even pass off as being human, displaying a certain air of intelligence and competence, had it not been for their stature and grotesque physique.

There they meet up with Irene and Darwin. “Are they all blind or do they all have terrible memories?” Darwin asks, frowning as he gets passed by, clearly expecting more fanfare with their arrival.

"I honestly haven't any idea... but I have a feeling this has to do with a wedding we are going to stop," Charles replies adamantly and begins moving briskly through the gates and into the inner courtyard of the castle with no problems.  Something was oddly fishy as more trolls moved about with purpose and carrying or pushing a variety of items.

The inner courtyard is surrounded by four walls that make up the inner wall of the castle.  There is a perfectly manicured lawn and various stages being set up.  Decorations and ribbons twine around the columns, in a disgusting shade of puce.

Seated in the thick of the preparations upon a dais is the princess, the crown upon her head identifies her as such. “I want everything to be absolutely perfect for my wedding.  Everything must be set up in haste for I am ever so eager to become the wife of someone who will spend the rest of his days spoiling me rotten with gifts and toys.”  She lets out a snort giggle and then turns around to shout more orders, completely ignoring her human audience.

“We better split up and find Erik quickly. Go with Irene,” Azazel suggests, turning to look from Darwin back to Charles, “If you find him before us, let us know and we’ll teleport in.”

The lamp's golden beacon never wavers from its target, light fixed upon a point that is typically the furthest away from where they had entered.  It points true and Charles can only wish he had the power to walk through walls at that point. “Here. Take the lamp, Azazel. It will not do if there is a band of humans just traipsing around the halls.  I'll see if I can buy us some time by talking to the princess.”

The lamp trades hands and then Azazel and Darwin quickly disappear from view in a quiet puff. Although no one had been paying attention to them, Charles could not help but shake the feeling that this was all a ruse. He looks around at the miles of fabric being draped all over the place and is suddenly struck with an idea. « Follow my lead, Irene. I saw this in a game once. It’s got to work. Just hold onto this and we’ll go talk to her. »

Irene raises an eyebrow but remains silent as Charles crosses the length of the courtyard and clears his throat loudly enough to attract her attention. “Excuse me, Your Highness. Please allow me to offer my congratulations on hearing about your marriage. I am absolutely thrilled and delighted.”

The princess sizes him up, her face scrunching up and causing more wrinkles to appear all over her face. “We have never met before, human,” she sniffs in his direction, her words a little haughty. “And you don’t smell like you are from around here.”

“That is because I’m not,” Charles laughs, “I am wounded that you do not remember me, cousin, for I have travelled a very long way to attend, as soon as I heard really.”  He can feel out the edges of the younger troll's mind. It is not shielded by years of experience like her mother's and Charles is extremely glad to know that his telepathy works against her.

“Cousin, heh, You don't look like any cousin of mine."

Charles shrugs, taking it all in stride. "We're distantly related, fifth cousins seven times removed or something like that.  My mother's father's great uncle's nephew's wife comes from your glorious lineage, Your Highness."

"And why should I trust you?”

Trolls were such distrustful creatures, Charles thinks with a sigh. He carefully adds the power of a mental suggestion into his words, willing her to believe everything he says. “What an excellent question, Your Highness.  But you see, I come bearing gifts - wedding gifts for you and your future husband - and I do hope you would do me the utmost honour of wearing them,” Charles speaks, although he sees it is a little bit of a lost cause when her eyes glaze over at the idea of gifts.

He slips the three golden items from his jacket and watches as the princess claps in glee like a small child, cooing over the shiny. “How considerate of you! Oh my, this is precious. Would you look at that, the way they sparkle so prettily in the sun.”  The items are snatched from his grasp and the princess titters to herself as she puts them on.

“I would also like to extend my congratulations to your husband to be. Is he around?  I have brought my seamstress in hopes that I can extend my gift to him,” Charles gestures vaguely in Irene’s direction, who seems to have picked up on where Charles is going with their own ruse, by dipping down into a low bob curtsy. He is sure both the distraction and his mental suggestion will be enough to lead him to Erik.

The princess nods, clicking her fingers and summoning a human servant to her side. “Take my _cousin_ to my future husband. I have much work that still needs to be done here.”

Charles hears the dismissal in her voice and quickly bows with a murmur of 'Your Highness'. The servant mutely gestures at them to follow him and they quickly walk through the twisted narrow passages of the castle, only scantily lit by the fires in the sconces.

« We’re inside the castle. » Charles sending an update to everyone. « I want you all to be very careful. »

 “The toymaker lies through the door,” the servant says as he lifts a complex looking wooden key from its hook by the door and offers it to Charles. “Lock up the door when you are done.  You will forgive me if I leave you to it.  Busy time, it is.”

“Oh, of course,” Charles says, injecting his voice with as much mock sympathy as he can and then clears his throat awkwardly to hide how tight it had suddenly become. "Please do not let me keep you from anything you must complete."

The servant bows and then disappears down the corridor, leaving Charles with the key to Erik’s freedom. It feels almost too easy, like stealing candy from a baby or, more aptly, his toymaker back from troll princesses.


	9. Chapter 9

Erik can tell someone is outside his door, the shadows underneath the crack in the door says as much. The problem is that he cannot hear what is going on, likely a cause of some kind of silencing spell. He is on his feet regardless, ready to defend himself if the need arose with his fists.

The sound of the wooden door sliding open and swinging open leaves Erik's head reeling as he stares at who is on the other side.  He stares even harder when Charles walks in, carrying himself like he owns the place.  Surely, surely this is a trick of his mind.  Or maybe even the troll princess using some kind of magic in order to trick him into compliance.  It would not be beneath the queen to come up with something like this.  Erik collapses back on the bed and runs a hand over his face.

It was just cruel to dangle the carrot in the face of an eternity doomed to servitude and solitude. "Just go away.  Surely you have taunted me enough," Erik moans as he closes his eyes and tries not to focus on how well made the illusion is.  They even have the two little freckles on the bridge of Charles' nose right where they always were.

"You know, Irene," the fake-Charles says wryly from where he stands in the middle of the room, "When I staged this rescue mission, I thought this moment would be filled with triumphant music that finally builds to a crescendo like all cheesy movies tend to do. But here I am being mistaken for a troll. Although I suppose you saw that coming."

Erik pulls his hand away from his face as Irene steps into the room and closes the door, looking far too amused.  "I did, Charles."

“Wha-?” The rest of his question is cut off when Charles launches himself down onto Erik's lap as his fingers crush his already ruined shirt between his fingers. Their lips crash together with no finesse as desperation dominates the kiss.  Erik can hardly keep the groan that vibrates in his throat.

“Wait. What are you doing here?” Erik asks, frowning as he tries to keep Charles from leaning forward and closing the distance between their mouths again by keeping his hands firmly on Charles’ shoulders.

“Busting you out, of course. Did you really think I’d actually let you go without a fight, mister?” Charles asks with a small huff. “You have another thing coming. Honestly Erik, I had always thought you are a clever man.”

“But how? We can’t just waltz right out the front door. They will find me again easily enough,” Erik says with a heavy sigh. "This is why I told you not to come and find me.  What if you got hurt, or worse, killed?  I would never be able to live with that knowledge."

With a roll of his eyes, Charles clambers out of Erik's lap and straightens his clothes. "But we did just walk through the front gate, well possibly side gate. But let us not argue semantics. Now that I've found you, I am never letting you go out of my sight ever again."

The point which baffles Erik the most is how Charles, who is meant to be safe and nearly three thousand kilometres away in New York would be her standing in front of him. “How did you find me?"

“There were some mysterious forces that wanted to lend a hand and then Charles pretended to be a distant relative of the princess. I am apparently his seamstress and we just got lead to you under the guise of giving you a makeover and wedding clothes," Irene explains patiently.  She takes a few steps and touches his shoulder. "We came all this way Erik just for you.  Everyone is out there looking for you.  We had to convince Emma not to come along with us lest she rendered all the trolls comatose or similar which is not what we want.  Subtlety as you know is not her strong point."  Charles looks surprised to hear the explanation.

"So get up and let us not keep everyone waiting. The battle may be won but the war is yet to be over."

He swallows and gets to his feet. If  and looks between Irene and Charles.  "So do we have some sort of plan as to how we should get out?"

“You bet we do,” Charles says with a bright grin. “Here’s what we’re going to do to blow this popsicle stand.”

* * *

Charles stood next to Erik, their fingers interwoven.  Short of murdering an entire race of unfortunate creatures, Charles would do absolutely anything in his power to take Erik home.  He takes a look at the suddenly packed room.  Azazel had appeared during the middle of Charles' speech with Raven and then everything snowballed from there until every available sitting space has been claimed.

“Are you sure this will work?” Erik dubiously asks for the fiftieth time.

“I don’t see you coming up with anything, brother,” Raven shoots back, folding her arms over her chest. “Remember back when we played that game, the name of which I forget now, and we would go dungeoning with randoms. Who was the one that came up with the raid plans? That’s right, me. You can't always play the role of the tank and protector. You've gotta let your support help you out sometimes too."

Erik frowns. "But I don't want you to get hurt.  I know you are a big girl now and have been making your own decisions for yourself for a very long time, but I am your big brother in every sense except blood.  I will always feel responsible for you."  Charles always knew Erik was all gooey on the inside like a finely toasted marshmallow with a crispy exterior that is absolutely delicious.

“I know, Erik. So it's my call whether I will go through with this. Also!" Raven adds as she gesticulates in the air, "Since none of us here actually are genius seamstresses or have the time to actually _make_ your wedding clothes, I’m your next best thing. Especially if we are to maintain some semblance of a cover. Azazel will then drop you in dressed as a bear, you demand that they let your beautiful sister go, then we’ll scare the bejesus out of the princess with lasers and screaming and all sorts of fun and exciting things. Then we watch them combust into tiny itty bitty bits and be back in time for the biggest dinner I am ever going to eat.”

“Should I even ask how you managed to procure this polar bear costume in the first place?” Erik asks, pointing to the white shaggy thing in Azazel’s hands.  Charles had also pondered about the costume, wondering if it had once been part of an excellent taxidermy display or perhaps a rug.  The latter appears to be more probable.

“It is the only thing we could find on such short notice, ok?” Alex says from his position by the window.  "You're lucky we even remembered where it was considering how big this stupid castle is."

“How do you even know that they’ll combust? And what if they slap some mutation kind of suppression device on you?” Erik asks.

“I don’t,” Raven replies cheerfully, “But failing that, Charles can screw with them mentally, or Azazel can drop them somewhere, or you can stab them with something, or Alex can blast them to kingdom come, or Sean can burst their eardrums or even Angel who can spit acid on them. Improvise, brother. We could even do something with their greed - or so that one episode from _Merlin_ tells me.”  Charles smiles, glad that he had not been the only one using _Merlin_ as reference.

Hank pipes up, his hand raised. "As a side note, the average IQ of the trolls that reside here appear to be lower than the troll in _Merlin_ , which is definitely advantageous for us.  And, with such a wide diversity of genetic mutations and gifts, the probability of the device working will probably work for those that have metal-based devices.  So, Raven should be safe."

Charles leans up to kiss the underside of Erik’s face and smiles. “This is a fool-proof plan. Remember to be all gruff and grizzly… or maybe not grizzly, but you know…polar beary.” 

Erik hums and stands up, tilting Charles’ face and capturing his lips, ignoring the chorus of groans coming from their friends and family. “I will see you soon.”

“And I, you.”  They part and start beginning preparations and get into position.  Time is of the essence and Charles can almost hear the impending wedding bells.  Although, the chiming can also be mistaken for funeral bells too.

* * *

 Things are thankfully going according to plan. Charles and Irene slip out of Erik's room before someone could find them all there plotting. The castle is indeed big, but between the two of them, they manage to find the inner courtyard once more which had transformed completely in the time they had been away. 

Everything now is swathed in puce-coloured fabric.  Even the bored aristocracy that Irene and Charles find themselves seated amongst are all wearing some shade of puce, leaving them to stick out like sore thumbs had they not also been the only humans in attendance.  Charles keeps his face neutral and pleasant as he slowly pokes gently at the minds around him, wondering just how far his telepathy could affect their actions.

Charles knows he will most likely have a splitting headache all of next week with how extensively he has been using his gift in the past twenty four hours. But everything will be worth all the pain he will have to suffer later on, he reminds himself firmly, trying to keep on task.

« I don’t know if I want silver or gold tassels on this. Out of all the base colours in the world, they _had_ to pick the hardest colour to match. » Raven’s bored voice flows through their heads abruptly. « Now shoes, I think we'll go with something classic like riding boots. Sleek and authoritative, eh? Oh, this servant fellow has come to fetch me. He really needs to wash. »

Minutes pass and Charles feels himself go tense all over. Raven-as-Erik arrives with the servant in question, her face a carbon copy of her brother’s from the annoyed eye-twitch thing he does right down to the scowl on his lips. Charles watches as she is prodded to stand up at the front, like a skittish colt about to be broken in which she makes it no easy task for the servants.

The minister troll coughs, the sound terribly wet and most likely contagious. Charles wrinkles his nose. “Dearly beloved. We are gathered here…”

« We’re ready when you are. » Erik’s voice whispers through his mind and Charles suppresses the urge to shudder.

« Get ready then. The Princess is fast-forwarding the normal procession in her haste to get hitched. » Charles replies and watches as the troll princess stamps her feet in the beginning of a terrible tantrum. « And just think of the time that has been spent preparing the stage and the seating arrangements and the troll caterers, what a nightmare they must have been! »

“Just get to the vows part already,” she screeches, spittle flying everywhere. Raven-as-Erik gives a snarl of disgust.

“Very well. Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Yes, I do. And my say counts twice as much as his, so there is no need to ask for his opinion. SOMEONE GET THE RINGS.” Her voice carries all he way around the courtyard a little troll dashes out of nowhere, only to trip over a bump in the carpet down the central passageway courtesy of Darwin and Angel.

“If anyone objects to this marriage," the troll minister says slowly after yet another watery cough, "Let them speak now, or forever hold their peace and lose their heads.”

« Now! » Charles sends out to. Instantaneously, Azazel appears next to Erik. Sean screams from somewhere outside the castle walls which causes some of the guests to panic as Alex's plasma rings soar harmlessly through the air. It is completely orchestrated and maybe a little cheesy, but it always works in the movies, so why not now?

“WHAT IS GOING ON?”  The princess shouts.  "WHO ARE YOU AND WHY HAVE YOU RUINED MY WEDDING?"

“Stop the wedding. That man you have up there is my sister,” Erik announces with a growl, waving one of his large paws emphatically in the air.

“Wait, that human man up there is actually a human woman?”  The guests begin to whisper.

“Could have fooled me. Who knew the princess could have such varied tastes.” Someone comments.

"That's the strangest looking human woman I've ever seen. And let me tell you, back in my day, I've seen quite a lot!"

“I guess we can claim the progressive tag on this right?”

“And to marry someone like that in front of the queen!”

The audience buzzes and hums as the rumours fly thicker and faster. “SHUT UP, THIS IS A MAN,” the princess yells as she takes Raven-as-Erik’s arm and shakes her.

“Derp. I don’t think so,” Raven replies smoothly as she resumes her natural form with a mischievous little grin on her face.  "And just between you and I, I can't even make scrambled eggs worth peanuts let alone make toys."

“ ** _SILENCE_**."The queen rises from her outside throne, commanding authority as the guests cower and quiet down. She slowly walks towards Erik. "I knew it was you that night I took you.  You are the little toymaker then?"

“Yes." Erik says, calm like the eye of a storm. "And I have already promised myself to another.”  Charles' heart leaps to hear Erik say those words.

“WHO?  TELL ME,” the princess screeches as she hustles to stand by her mother’s side, her face purpling with all the rage that must be bouncing around inside of her.

Charles stands up and says loudly, “Me.  I love him and there is nothing you can possibly do to tear us apart.”

“ ** _YOU_** ,” the queen snarls as she tramples over some of the guests to get to Charles.  Chairs, draped pieces of puce ribbon, trolls all yield under her foot.

Charles takes a calm breath, feeling the courage spread out all over his body and tilts his chin up to stare defiantly at her. “Me. You should know that the emotion that comes after sorrow is determination,” Charles says calmly as the guests scatter and scamper out of the way of the enraged queen.  "And just so you know, the anger of trolls is ever so sweet to me."

He closes his eyes and smiles, ignoring the loud shouts of his name as he freezes both the princess and the queen in her footsteps as the mental shields of the trolls slip. Charles opens his eyes and steps closer to the queen so he can stare into her eyes. “Also, a word of warning. If you take someone from their loved ones, you should make sure their one true love isn’t an omega levelled telepath who is capable of the world and will stop at nothing to get him back.”

“What are you going to do with them?” Irene asks, tilting her head to one side.

“I can do many things to them,” Charles says coolly, laughing at their feeble mental struggles for freedom. He clamps down on the control he has over them. “But for now, I will strip them of their self-imposed royal title, make everyone forget about us and allow them to spend the rest of their days making amends and living peacefully.”

It is a huge task and occurs in the span of a few minutes as Charles combs through their thoughts, plucking and snipping at the unsavoury parts of them. And then there is a certain amount of precision he uses to stitch their minds back together.  This is the only compassion he shows, weaving them a plausible story for why they suddenly cannot remember a thing.

He carefully sifts through all their memories concerning Erik, easily removing them from their minds. With the curse finally broken and the memories of those amended, Charles slumps down to the floor in exhaustion into the embracing arms of sweet oblivion.  There, in his own mind, Charles floats upon fluffy white clouds. It feels almost like a dream and everything is so calm here.

"-Arles... Charles! Wake up!"

His eyes snap open and blinks before he realizes he is horizontal and looking up at the blue sky with a very concerned looking Erik looming above him, the polar bear costume pushed up and resting on his forehead. Erik’s lap is so terribly comfortable. There are no trolls in sight and Charles barely recognises the canopy above him as the one near the side gate where they had first entered.

“Charles?  Are you hurt anywhere?”

He smiles at the sound of his name, reaching up to cup Erik’s face tenderly with one of his hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever told you how handsome you are.”

Erik laughs softly and leans down to bury his face into the side of his neck, the deep breath he takes making the skin there tingle pleasantly.  "For a moment I thought I had lost you.  I am glad to see that you are safe."

“I don’t want to ruin the moment, darling," Charles starts, smiling as the polar bear’s fur tickles his cheek.  "But I’m starving and I think Raven's idea of the biggest dinner ever to be eaten sounds great right about now.”

“Then, I think it is high time to go back home,” Azazel says, waiting for everyone to take a hold of one another before returning home to New York.

* * *

**Epilogue**

Erik leans against the door jamb to his workshop as he looks at the sight of Charles standing there in the middle, clad only in one of his shirts that falls tantalizingly mid-thigh.  Charles is looking down at the polar bear plushie, dressed up like a shark of all things, whose beady little eyes stare upwards right back at him. He almost does not have the heart to interrupt their staring contest. Almost.

Clearing his throat, Erik moves in to wrap his arms around Charles from behind and presses a kiss to the side of his head.  "Do you like it?"  Erik asks shyly, having kept the toy from Charles for the better half of two months as he planned with Emma and Raven about launching a new line of dressable plushies to celebrate the merger.

Charles hums and pets the polar bear's snout before turning around, a beautiful smile on his face. "I love it."  He lets out a breath he did not even realise he had been holding in and offers Charles a small smile. "I notice you only made one shark costume and one mouse one.  Am I being too presumptuous to say that they are for us?"

"It appears I can never hide anything from you," Erik says fondly. "I know James and Michael will always have a special place in our hearts.  But that had been a trade between Charles Xavier and Max Eisenhardt.  Now I'm offering those two as a gift from Erik Lehnsherr to Charles Xavier.  If he would do me the honour of accepting them."

Charles' cheek flush with pleasure, making him more sexy in Erik's eyes.  "This sounds oddly like a proposal, **_der haifisch_**.  But, yes, of course, my love.  It would be my pleasure, although it seems hardly fair that you made both of them and I get them both." Erik turns momentarily to look at his creations and smiles down at them.

"This is plenty fair, _my **groovy oxfordian**_. You get to keep these two and I get to keep you.  And speaking of pleasure..."  Erik waggles his eyebrows suggestively that causes Charles to bubble with mirth.  His hand is seized and Erik happily allows himself to be lead to his couch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have not yet sussed out the gorgeous art drawn by my amazing artist, [please click here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/663341).  
> And of course, as always, please suss out other amazing works that other artists and authors have written and drawn for this challenge. So much blood spilt and tears spent [over here](http://xmenbigbang.livejournal.com/)!
> 
> Also, if you find any mistakes or errors, please do not hesitate to comment or email me.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! I sincerely hope you have enjoyed reading it as much as I had writing it. ♥


End file.
